The Chip Chronicles
by shortstef
Summary: The enchantment has been broken...but a new dark magical power threatens the kingdom, and kidnaps Belle and Vincent's only child. A twist of fate means that only Chip can save her, but how? Please read and review :
1. Prologue

Hi everyone! SURPRISE! I've decided to post my brand spanking new story. Now, the original plan was to write at least half of it before i posted but thats not working cos I'm just not getting motivated enough to write, so I've decided that I'm gonna post what I've written so far and then when I get reviews (hint! hint!) and feel I'm going somewhere with this, I'll be more likely to update regularly, which will make me write more! It kind of makes sense.

So, I give you, my second full-length fanfiction story about everybody's favourite teacup/boy. Now I know not everyone is interested in reading a story about a minor character, but I'm hoping those of you who liked my last story can also like this one. And I figure if Faith (i.e LumBabsFan) can get everyoneas interested in Lumiere and Babette as she has, then surely I can give it a stab with Chip (By the way, read Faith's excellent stories :p thats an order!)

So, please bear with me! I promise you excitement, adventure, tragedy, romance and all other good things that should be in a story, and I do plan to have several other original characters in there as well as some of my own, so theres something for everyone.

Ok, lets get started. I would like to dedicate this story to the BatB Fanfiction workshop crew for all their support and inspirationand for all the great conversations we've had. Please everyone read their stories too cos they're a talented bunch! TrudiRose, LumBabsFan, NikkiBelle18, BelleEve, beautygirl, Dutch FF-Lover, LaFemmeDarla, BookRose, Moonlight Enchantments. And, also please mosey on down to deviantART and check out Lathnon Aniron and DisneyBubbles' work, cos it kicks bottom! Now I've given them all their free plugs :p...onwards to the story.

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Prologue: 1735 

Once upon a time, five years before the story of the rose, the Beast and his Beauty, a child was born. His birth was as unremarkable as that of many other babies born on the same day, except perhaps for the fact that he did not scream as is common when cold hard air is forced into a newborns lungs. Instead, he made a strange sound, almost like a giggle, as he was gently lifted and held by his nurse.

"It's a boy, milady! Oh, it's a boy!" the nurse said as she blinked back tears. "Would you like to see?"

And she wrapped the child in swaddling clothes, a task made increasingly more difficult by his constant wiggling, and lowered him so that his mother might look upon his innocent face.

His mother tried to keep her eyes expressionless as her son peered into them from inside his wraps, but she found she could not. Despite her best efforts, she smiled; a weak smile but one of unconditional love nonetheless, as she saw the perfectly-formed features of her first, and last, baby boy. Suddenly, more than anything, she longed to hold him and see the first rush of his blood flush his cheeks, feel his heart beating next to hers, experience the sensation of feeding him from her breast, but her useless arms continued to lie motionless on either side of her wasted body, no matter how hard she tried to move them.

As if in response, the child began to wriggle harder but his efforts simply resulted in a firmer grip in the arms of his nurse as she moved him a little closer to the face of his mother. A face once beautiful, before it was marked, and not just from the pains of labour. A face that was now struggling to keep its composure as tears mixed with the sweat running in rivulets down its scarred surface. The face belonged to the disgraced Lady Catherine Dudley, a prominent one in wealthy estates across the south of England and at the court of King George.

At least, it had been until some months previously when it had been discovered that she was with child-the long-awaited heir to the extensive lands and titles of the Dudley family. However, celebrations had been abruptly cut short when the much revered Lord Dudley had, apparently inexplicably, ordered his beloved wife to leave the stately home where they had spent ten years of wedded bliss and made it known that should she ever return, it would mean a funeral hearse rather than a baby carriage for both of them.

And so it was that the child's birth was unremarkable when it should have been quite the opposite. He came in to the world on a stained and torn blanket when he should have been surrounded by luscious draperies and satin sheets with his mother, lacking the care of the best doctors, close to death and alone, except for her trusted maid and friend, Evelyn Potts acting as nurse.

Catherine focused on her son's fresh countenance-his tiny nose, his squinting eyes, his rosebud mouth-and felt any resentment at his existence evaporate like dew in the mid-day sun. This was the child that had cost her everything she held dear yet she could not help but marvel at the life that had been growing inside her. It was like a part of herself had become separate from the whole. For one moment, she almost believed that he had his father's eyes and boisterous nature, and she imagined them together-riding, hunting, fishing and all manner of things that little boys and their fathers did together.

Her daydream was shattered as she felt a guttural cough rip itself from the back of her throat and cause her delicate body to convulse when she wasn't even aware it was still able to move.

"Take…him…away" she managed between rasps, as if every tortured breath was poison. This seemed to trigger something from within the child for he suddenly started wailing as he was whisked away from his mother's side by an anxious Mrs. Potts.

"Now, hush now, shhhhhhhh" pleaded Evelyn, although she was not sure who she was addressing. The moment she had been dreading was upon her and she could not help but feel a wave of panic start to rise from somewhere inside her, despite all her precautions. She started to rock the baby back and forth, surprising herself that she had remembered so quickly the best way to stop a child's tear, even amidst the dire situation that they were now in.

Catherine had known she was weak, even in the early stages of her pregnancy, and she seemed to welcome it. After their frantic flight from Dudley Manor and their hasty residence in the apparently deserted woodcutter's cottage, she became a mere shadow of her former self. When Mrs. Potts had enquired about her welfare, seemingly every time she had left a meal unfinished or refused to leave a chair for hours, she had said that she felt her heart was shattered and that its pieces had pierced every muscle and limb in her body. She was broken, unfixable, and Evelyn had to watch as the woman she had loved like a daughter wasted away before her eyes. It was a miracle she had survived long enough to bring an apparently healthy baby into the world and now it seemed that death had finally decided it wanted to claim her.

"Mrs. Potts?"

The faint whisper had come during a merciful silence; a temporary break from the coughing.

"Yes, my child?"

Evelyn rushed to Catherine's side, trying her best not to notice the crimson stain creeping slowly through the sheets below her.

"Charles", the lady croaked.

"Charles?"

"His name. Charles. After…"

Evelyn understood. Charles. After the man who should have been his father.

"Of course, my child. Of course that shall be his name."

"Thank you."

The Lady Catherine Dudley managed a weak smile before finally slipping into unconsciousness and sleeping forever.

Mrs. Potts could not stand the silence. She sat carefully down in an old chair nearest the window of the room and started to hum a tune from her own childhood to the orphan in her arms.

Outside the cottage, a dark shape flitted back and forth between the trees, darting from one shadow to the other as the full moon up above glared strongly, an omnipresent light in the darkness.


	2. The Birth of a Prophecy

Hi everyone! In case of confusion, I just want to point out that this story isn't necessarily gonna be in chronological order. Thats why we've suddenly jumped forward a lot and after the enchantment. There will be flashbacks later on and the timeline is going to jump around a bit but i'm gonna make it as unconfusing as possible, I promise! Big thanks to everyone who reviewed and to Trudi for being my beta. On with the story...It is 16 years later (including ten years for the enchantment)

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Chapter One: Birth of a Prophecy. 1751.

Although it was sunset and almost time for dinner, the castle was strangely silent; no feet scurried about as was usual for the time of day. The kitchen was empty, the dining table unlaid. The sunken sun's final rays shone through the ballroom and library windows, but illuminated no faces nor caused any living shadow. In fact, the entire ground floor of the castle was deserted as evening drew on.

The West Wing, however, was a-buzz with activity. All the servants had been given a few hours off, for their master and mistress were in no state to give orders.

Lumiere was taking full advantage of the time and whispering sweet nothings in the ear of his amour while Cogsworth, positive he could see dust resting on every unswept surface, trailed his finger along the top of an armoire and looked at its tip in disgust.

"Lumiere…" he began, only to be interrupted by a high-pitched giggle from Babette. A giggle that never failed to cut right through Cogworth's skin like a knife.

He groaned, not wanting to think about what nonsense they were up to now. Ever since the breaking of the enchantment just over a year ago, they hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. It was insufferable to watch and worse to have to listen to constantly whenever he made his early morning inspections, and today he did not want his nerves stretched anymore than they already were.

"Lumiere!" he shouted, so loudly that the rest of the servants gathered in the room looked up from their conversations.

"Oui, ma poupette…mon ami!"

Babette giggled again at her lover's mistake. Cogsworth was not amused.

"Look at this! Just look at this!" he said as he thrust his finger in Lumiere's general direction. "The castle is getting filthier and filthier every second that we are standing up here. I mean, really, they can't expect us to shirk our duties…"

"Calm yourself, mon ami. It cannot be for much longer."

"But...but…it's been hours and the tapestries…the suits of armour in the eastern corridor…couldn't we just…"

"Cogsworth…"

"…quickly go and check…"

"…we are all restless, but we should respect the master's wishes, don't you agree? Learn to distract yourself, mon ami."

Lumiere turned back to his prize.

"Yes, well…not all of us have such…convenient distractions," muttered Cogsworth as he checked the hour on his pocket-watch for the seventh time that afternoon. "Oh, when is it going to be over?"

As if to answer his question, a baby's shriek suddenly resonated from inside the main chamber. It was music to not only Cogsworth's ears.

"Oh, thank goodness!" he exclaimed over the rising noise of the servants' excitement. "Alright everybody, settle down, settle down, we don't want to get overexcited."

Unsurprisingly, the noise did not abate, and now the maids that had been sitting on the floor were on their feet and whispering to each other. The gardener, who had been in the middle of a discussion with Francois, the head chef, about the best way to cook turnips, for some reason now found it necessary to go around and shake hands with every other male in the room and was that…was that money changing hands? Cogsworth felt anger start to grind away with the anxiety already in his head and his hand tightened around his beloved pocket-watch.

A sudden slap on his shoulder caused the watch to fall through his fingers and hit the wooden floor with a dull tinkling noise that turned his already stretched smile into a full-on grimace.

"Lumiere!" he seethed, certain he could feel a cloud of smoke billow from each of his ears.

Choosing to ignore the strange purple colour of his colleague's face, Lumiere met his stare with a dazzling smile.

"Ah! It seems the moment we have been waiting for has finally arrived."

The baby's screams continued to pierce both of their ears despite the rather large barrier of two solid oak doors separating them from it.

"My, my, la petite princesse has quite a pair of lungs on her, does she not?"

Cogsworth sighed in a very exaggerated manner.

"And how can you be sure it's a girl, Lumiere?"

"Call it instinct,"said his companion with a wink and a well-placed nudge.

Suddenly, the doors were flung wide open to reveal a breathless and excited Prince Vincent. Cogsworth leapt forward before Lumiere had a chance to steal the limelight.

"What is the news, sire?"

Vincent took a deep breath, his sky-blue eyes shining with excitement, his hair rapidly coming loose from his ponytail.

"It's a girl!" he exclaimed.

The entire household erupted with joy. Cogsworth turned around to see Lumiere grinning smugly. He scowled and stuck his nose in the air as if he smelled something nasty.

"Congratulations, sire!" said Lumiere warmly. "And Princess Belle?"

Vincent's grin stretched so wide it threatened to split his face in two and, overcome with joy, he swept the two servants he regarded as his closest friends into a cheery embrace.

"She is well. Tired, but well. She is resting. You there….."

He jumped from the two servants to another with a boyish enthusiasm that seemed to have become a part of his character only after the long winter of his youth. He greeted a startled stable lad. "Issue a proclamation! Tell the kingdom the good news."

The lad nodded, deciding not to take that moment to remind the prince that his duties solely involved taking care of the horses and that he would not know the first place to start when issuing a proclamation. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

"Right away, sire!", and he fought his way through the crowd of servants to someone who could help him. Cogsworth was not pleased. He was quite certain that that was his duty. However, it was a day of celebration and, as tempting as it would be to kick up a fuss, he switched his attention to more pressing matters. The prince was now standing completely still, trying to deal with the sea of servants that had surrounded him and were now smothering him with their best wishes. Cogsworth stepped forward and the sea seemed to part for him, either through respect or from the glare he gave each of them in turn.

"Your majesty, perhaps I might suggest a small, quiet drink to toast the birth of the princess. I do believe I have some brandy downstairs…good cognac, you know…none of this imported rubbish, if you would care for some? I was, after all, saving it for a special occasion such as this."

He took his master's arm and gently guided him to the door with Lumiere following close behind. The 'small, quiet drink' that Cogsworth had suggested was to turn into a three-day feast, complete with raucous laughter and drunken merriment that he would regret, but of course he was unaware at the time that such a civilised suggestion would become a mess he would be cleaning up for days, and so it was with mutual delight that the three men left the room. The rest of the servants talked among themselves for a moment before gradually dispersing to various rooms throughout the castle. Soon, only Babette remained, clutching the hand of an anxious six-year old boy as he waited for his mama. She shared a smile with Isabella, another chambermaid, as she left the room and reminded herself to meet her for a gossip later to amuse while her beau was doing his manly obligations. As the doors closed, a small hand tugged at her skirts.

"Babette, how much longer?"

"Soon!" she laughed. "You must be patient, petite. Your mother is taking part in something very special. These things take time."

Chip scowled. "It's just a baby."

"Were you not a baby once?" grinned Babette. "Did you not demand attention constantly?"

"No!" murmured Chip, as he watched the shadows that moved underneath the door in front of them with earnest.

At last, the handle turned and a beaming Mrs. Potts emerged, her eyes glassy with exhaustion at witnessing once again the miracle of birth.

"MAMA!" bellowed Chip, as he tugged free of Babette's hand and ran towards her.

"Hush now, Chip! She's sleeping. My goodness, you're getting heavy," she said as she picked him up. "Were you good for Babette? Did you behave yourself?"

Babette laughed to herself. "He was a perfect gentleman, Mrs. Potts, apart from tugging my dress so hard that the hem almost came away. A bientot."

She smiled and exited the room to find Isabella.

"Would you like to see her, Chip?"

He raised an eyebrow in response. Evelyn chuckled. "What a little character you're becoming! Come now, you get to be one of the first to see our new little princess. Wouldn't you like that?"

"I guess," said Chip nonchalantly, as his mother put him down and took his hand. Together, they entered the birthing chamber, which had been decorated appropriately in lush pinks and lavenders. In the centre of the room and underneath the windows that overlooked the palace gardens, was a large canopied bed where the exhausted figure of Belle lay sleeping, her chest rising and falling gently as she drew breath.

As Chip approached the bed and the cradle beside it, he gradually became aware of a faint line around the sleeping figure in the bed. As he stared further, it started to glow, first pale yellow, then golden as if the sun lay directly underneath Belle as she slept. It enveloped her and rose and fell steadily with her breathing. He blinked and it was gone. Confusion marred his smooth brow.

"Mama, Belle is glowing!" he whispered, staring at her and wanting it to happen again. Mrs. Potts smiled at her son's surprising perception.

"Wonderful, isn't it? The healthy exhaustion of a new mother. The delicate light of a new life. She looks so peaceful." She sighed wistfully.

"No, Mama….," began Chip, but he was silenced by his mother.

"Hush now, you'll wake the baby."

She guided him towards the cradle by the side of the bed. It was beautiful, handmade from rosewood and decorated with delicately carved panels depicting entwining roses-a present from a proud grandfather-to-be. The top of it came right up to Chip's forehead and he frowned when his view was obscured by a very solid bar of wood.

"Mama…," he began, before he felt himself lifted up once more. He looked down at what first appeared to be a pile of sheets and blankets. After a few seconds, it stirred and he found himself gazing into the face of the new princess. She was tiny, like a porcelain doll, her skin pale as china, her hands and feet delicate like opaque glass.

"What's her name, Mama?"

"Raisse. Isn't it beautiful?" sighed Mrs. Potts.

Chip was about to reply with a shrug and an unbothered "I guess so," when the image of the baby suddenly fled from his sight and was replaced with a vision. He saw a young lady, blue-eyed and fair-haired, running through a garden. She was laughing. He heard a voice, his own, yet older, deeper shouting her name. He saw a shadow, darker than night itself. He heard an earth-shattering scream, and then another. He saw a pair of eyes. Evil eyes. Eyes that burned with malice, and they looked straight into his own.

Chip shrieked and buried his face in his mother's shoulder, desperately trying to replace the sudden alarming attack on his senses with the comforting smell of her natural scent. Tears began to fall from his eyes and his small hands gripped the cloth of her blouse.

"Chip? Chip! My goodness…what on earth…what's the matter?" stammered Mrs. Potts, startled by his unusual behaviour, but all she heard back were his sobs.

"Chip…" she began again, but was interrupted by a loud wailing coming from the cradle beside her.

"Oh! Now, look what you've done!" she cried, flustered and panicking. Chip felt himself suddenly plonked rather unceremoniously on the floor, still sobbing with distress. Mrs. Potts rushed to the cradle and snatched up the princess, now flailing and crying like a mad thing. She held her to her chest and started to rock her back and forth, all the while pleading for the child to stop crying, lest she awake her mother and alarm the servants. This was to no avail, as the cries just got louder and louder.

Stunned, Chip backed slowly towards the door, his own tears drying rapidly on his cheeks, screams echoing in his ears and visions haunting his mind. With a gasp of breath, he turned and ran through the door, the floorboards thumping beneath his feet with every step.

"Chip! Chip!" hollered a distraught Mrs. Potts after him, but he could not hear her. He would not hear her. All he could do was run.


	3. At The Tavern

Hi everyone! I give you chapter three! It's not been beta'd so I hope there's no major mistakes. I'm sure people will tell me if there are. Thanks to all my reviewers :)

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The tavern was silent as the man entered, seeking shelter from the bitter cold that had recently descended on the village. He slammed the door behind him, and was dismayed to find the tavern colder still. The image of his breath in front of his eyes acted as confirmation. Nonetheless, he was determined. He simply wrapped his cloak tighter around his shivering body and walked slowly towards the bar.

The barman stool behind, polishing a pewter tankard with a rag and staring into space. He could have stood there all evening repeating the same action for all the man knew, and he probably had done, for the tavern was empty. Chairs were pulled tightly into tables. The tables themselves were bare, long since cleared of cigar butts, water rings and any other signs of life. The floors were swept, the glasses rinsed-everywhere was clean. The man didn't like it. It was too sterile, too barren. The entire place was shrouded in darkness. The lantern in the mans hand only seemed to emphasise this fact. His eyes reluctantly turned to the darkest corner and an icy chill suddenly made him wrap his cloak tighter still.

"Good evening, Lefou," said the barman, trying to manage the welcoming smile he had once made his trademark. "What brings you here?"

"Good evening, Jean," said Lefou, unable to tear his eyes away from the corner, and especially not from the chair that stood there. "Business is slow?"

"Yes." Jean nodded. "The worst it has ever been. I am starting to wonder how much longer I can stay open. Marie and the children…it has been difficult."

He sighed, never ceasing the ritual of cleaning the tankard in his hands.

Lefou fished a few coins out of his pocket and put them on the counter.

"I'd best have a beer now then, please"

As Jean slid the coins towards him, checked them carefully and then moved towards the barrels behind him, Lefou found himself walking towards the chair and the corner it sat in. There was a fireplace nearby beyond it, but it was as dark and cold as the rest of the building. Jean was trying to save on fuel.

The chair loomed out of the shadows. It was a magnificent chair, almost as much as the man who once owned it. Finest oak, hand-crafted, and decorated with animal skin. A horn sat at each top corner. One could almost imagine it was still a living beast. On closer inspection, Lefou could see a fine layer of dust covering every surface. It was as suspected; the chair had not been touched for over a year, as was also the case with the heads that adorned the wall, cobwebs strewn between the antlers. The wall was dominated by a large painting. Lefou knew it well. He had been there when it was commissioned, a celebration of a particularly successful hunting trip. He had watched when its subject had posed for hours, musket in hand, one foot on a fallen tree and demanding the painter do him justice. Now it seemed dull and faded, barely recognisable from any other painting of any other man.

Dare he sit in the chair? It was so close now. If he had done so just months earlier, he would have no doubt received a clout round the ear for his trouble. All those times he had stood near listening to his rages, his tempers, his sorrows. The chair had come alive then; at one with its occupant, content to be part of a life-force that filled every room it entered. One that was feared and admired in equal measure. He had brought vivacity and exuberance to this chair. Without him, it was just nicely-carved wood with a carcass slung across it. Everything was nothing without him. Lefou was nothing without him. He was gone, and with him had gone the spirit of Molyneaux, and seemingly every inhabitant within it.

Lefou reluctantly returned to the bar. His beer was rapidly going flat. He didn't much care. It was all so hopeless.

"It's just not the same is it? Since he died, I mean."

_Darn right_ thought Lefou as he downed the beer in one go, and then immediately felt ill. He had never quite managed to master that trick. Gaston had made it seem effortless.

"Anything else for you today, friend?"

Lefou shook his head.

"That so? I heard you were…looking for something…or someone."

"You heard wrong," replied Lefou, a little too bluntly. He thought for a moment. "What if I was?"

The barman leant forwards to whisper, his apron crumpling as it met the counter. Lefou immediately thought it a ridiculous action. After all, it wasn't as if anyone was in earshot. Nevertheless, it appeared to be in keeping with the atmosphere, or lack of it. He listened intently to every word, to rumours he had dismissed, to ideas that he thought could not possibly lurk in his brain, to the seeds of the solution to fill the void inside of him.

Justice…and revenge.

Lefou left the tavern that night, feeling lighter than he had done in months. He had a plan, surprising as he had never really been the plotting type. He basically had to do what needed to be done, and if it meant delving into the unknown, so be it. Gaston would not have died in vain. He held the lapels of his cloak as he fought against the blizzard and made his way to the mausoleum. Time to inform his friend of his plans. As he trudged through the show, looking very much like a lost child, a figure was watching him from an alleyway. The shadow where its mouth should have been grinned, revealing crooked teeth that glinted in the moonlight. The little man would be perfect. Just perfect. Unseen by anyone, it slunk into the tavern to pay Jean for his trouble.


	4. A Celebration

Hi everyone, bit of a boring chapter this. Just filling in some background info, once again this has not been beta'd so please bear with me if there are any blatent typos/inconsistencies**

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**Chapter Three: A Celebration**

**1758**

"And with this ring, I thee wed."

"And with this ring, I thee wed," said the groom, his stomach in knots. He looked across into the eyes of the woman he loved, and smiled when the twinkle inher eyes matched his. He found it hard to believe it was all really happening. It was not so long ago that he had resigned himself to never loving again; the memories of his beloved Elizabeth never leaving his mind, even after all these years. Now, as the midday sun streamed through the chapel windows and hit the ring in his hand, making it sparkle, he knew that wherever she was now, she was happy for him. His heart swelled with happiness within his chest as his wife-to-be recited her vows, her beautiful and kind eyes never leaving his.

It had been so unexpected yet somehow inevitable-the two of them finding love. That moment in the castle ballroom eight years ago surrounded by all manner of people, young, old, rich, poor, all gathered in one place and all eyes focused on the young couple dancing in front of them. He had been close to tears then-sad because he was losing his daughter, happy because he was losing her to true love and the man of her dreams…and in such unusual circumstances!

As the prince swept Belle off her feet into another embrace, he had heard a child's voice beside him.

"Are they going to live happily ever after, Mama?"

He had turned to see a lady and her son, Mrs. Potts and Chip, two of the servants that had been so kind to him on that fateful night when he has lost his way in the woods. He had found it difficult to believe that the cheery teapot and mischievous tea cup he remembered from then were beside him now, human again and as real as the dancing lovers. She had sighed and, glassy-eyed, held her son tighter to her chest.

"Of course, my dear. Of course."

"Do I still have to sleep in the cupboard?"

The remark was so innocent, so blissfully child-like that Maurice had smiled, then chuckled, and so had she. He remembered thinking her laugh was delightful and then their eyes had met, and he had thought how pleasing her smile was, and how the bond between her and Chip was like the one between himself and Belle. There was nothing so beautiful to behold in the world as a parents love for a child. That had been the moment. He had asked her to dance that very night. Their dance had led to a friendship, then a companionship which had then over the years blossomed into love. And now here they were, eight years later, and he was finally making an honest woman of her.

"By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

As they kissed, the entire chapel erupted into cheers and applause. The Queen of France leapt up from her seat and ran to embrace her father and then her new step-mother. Her husband, King Vincent, was too late to fondly scold her that attacking her father before he'd walked back up the aisle was a little unorthodox. '_But then, nothing has been 'orthodox' since the day we met', _he smiled to himself. It was all part of the fairy-tale their life had become.

Shortly after the breaking of the curse and the ballroom dance that sealed their love, he had announced his return to the kingdom. After much deliberation, and much advice from Cogsworth (some wanted, some not), the prince had told the people the tale of the last ten years of time he had spent as a prisoner of a great and fearsome Beast and how a brave young woman had freed him from his fate with love and devotion. They had defeated the Beast together and emerged triumphant, married and lived happily ever after. It was not the truth but it was not really a lie either, and the kingdom had been delighted to get their crown prince back. The parliament that had been elected to rule in the absence of the monarchy were also delighted as their constant arguments and disagreements had reached crisis point. The re-appearance of their prince could not have come at a better time. The people were even more delighted to witness that he had transformed from the spoilt and unkind boy they had known into a wise and noble young man.

Eight years on, life was still good. He caught his father-in-law's eye and nodded respectfully. He owed the old man a lot-it was wonderful to see him so happy, and with his much adored housekeeper too. It was strange how things had turned out. He smiled and got up to accompany his wife, who had now apparantly decided she was going to escort her father and his bride back up the aisle.

Evelyn D'Aubigne, nee Potts, laughed joyfully as she prepared to take her first steps down the aisle with her new husband, only to find the King and Queen of France beside them in the procession instead of behind them. Somewhere, Cogsworth would be seething. A young man with untidy dark blonde hair suddenly appeared beside her, wearing a slightly crumpled shirt and a coat with sleeves that were already looking too short for him. Goodness, how much taller was he going to get? He was already taller than herself and Maurice, and now in danger of catching up with Lumiere. He grinned at her, his cheeky, lopsided grin, and kissed her cheek.

"Congratulations, Mama."

"Thank-you, Chip"

Her son grinned again and placed her arm in his. Evelyn laughed.

"Chip, this front row is already in danger of intruding into the pews. Why don't you follow behind, dear, like we planned in rehearsal?"

His expression turned to one of mock horror.

"But I haven't finished giving you away yet! It is my duty, remember?"

"Well, if you're next to me, then where is the princess going to walk? You can't just leave her to walk behind by herself now, can you?"

Chip pointed towards the other end of the row where 7-year-old Princess Raisse was giggling as she was plucked from the floor into her father's arms.

"Very well then! Be on your best behaviour, mind!"

Chip immediately obliged by standing ram-rod straight, sticking his nose in the air and moving as if to march his mother up the aisle like a soldier.

"Chip!" sighed Evelyn, exasperated.

That was Chip. Always the joker. She couldn't remember the last time he had been serious for longer than a few minutes. She knew his behaviour annoyed some of the household. Cogsworth in particular did not seem to appreciate it, and the young princess had avoided him ever since he had almost made her ill by spinning her around too vigorously in the gardens a week previously. He apparently had an endless supply of energy, often having to resort to long walks with Sultan the dog or the horses to expend it when nobody else could keep up with him. As a result, he was often alone.

Evelyn could not stop worrying about him. Even today, the happiest day of her life, as he had proudly given her away and was now making the procession giggle with his overly-pompous walking, she sensed something was troubling him, deep beneath the surface where nobody else could see it. Was his clownish manner a mask, a charade, hiding something? She hoped her instinct was wrong, tried to dismiss it as her own over-anxious mind working against her. Was she just fussing unnecessarily, driven by her own secret turmoil? He was growing up fast, and she was dreading the moment when she would have to tell him the truth about his heritage. He had never asked her, which she found unusual, especially as he was such an inquisitive child, asking questions about everything except himself, yet surely, somewhere inside, he must know that she was not his true mother. He had Catherine's unruly hair that somehow managed to look messily adorable, her angelic and infectious smile. No doubt he would grow up as handsome as she had been beautiful, but his eyes…his melancholy blue eyes…they were what caused that heavy feeling of dread in her gut. So unlike his mothers.

A squeeze at her other arm distracted her.

"Is everything alright…wife?"

Maurice had noticed her faraway look and was now addressing her with affectionate concern. In an instant, her worry lines were gone, replaced by the smiles and blushes of a newly-wed.

"Wonderful, husband. Just wonderful.

They kissed, their family all around them, and walked up the aisle.


	5. Half a Shadow

Hi everyone, bit of a short one this but my excuse is that I'm all ill and flu-ey and lacking energy! I'm sure this will keep you amused for a while! Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers, on with the show...

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Chapter Four. Half a Shadow.

**1767.**

_Water. Never-ending water. Swirling, churning, rushing-faster and faster. It was dark water; so dark that you could not see the bottom, or even if it had a bottom. Perhaps it was a river of eternal darkness—the doom of whosoever plunged into its icy depths. Rushing, swirling, churning. Never the same river twice, always different, always fearful. He couldn't stop it. It just kept coming—on and on and on…gurgling, whispering, mocking. Daring him to jump in and swim in its murky nothingness. Down, down, down, claiming him, drinking him in. He was struggling to keep his head up. He was trying to move but it was dragging him down below the surface. It was cold, so cold he felt his blood begin to freeze. His hands were clawing but water was floating in between his fingers. He was running out of air. He was suffocating on his own breath. He felt as if he was about to burst. The pressure was building. His arms were now useless, rendered immobile by the bitter cold, but he still had his legs. He could still kick, and he did kick, he was kicking as fast he possibly could. He was desperate now. His chest was contracting, growing tighter and tighter. He couldn't hold on much longer. He thought he could see daylight glimmering on the surface miles above him but he couldn't reach it. He kicked harder still, causing the water to churn beneath him. Churning, swirling, rushing. _

_He screamed and the water rushed in._

Chip woke immediately, as he had done almost every night for the past sixteen years. Regular as clockwork. The drowning dream was just one in a whole series of nightmares, but out of all of them, it was the most potent, the most terrifying. And he could never escape them. They'd started appearing in the daytime now. Whenever he allowed himself a moment of peace and closed his eyes in the warm sunshine, they happened. Over the years, he had learned to cope with them though, and live along side them. He had ways of disguising his tiredness and he could function on a few hours of sleep. That didn't stop them being any less frightening or real though.

He swallowed several times, gasping for air, and then he got out of bed and went to the sink. Every night. Regular as clockwork. He splashed his face with water and drank greedily from the tap. It tasted good—so different from the vile water in his dreams. He lit a well-worn down candle and stared at his face in the mirror with its light. He was half in shadow, one side of his face disappearing into the darkness, the other side illuminated by the dancing flame. It emphasised the fine lines that had begun to appear at the corners of his eyes, the eyes that were never shut long enough. He splashed his face with water again and watched the drops drip down his face, travelling along from his eyes to his cheeks and catching on his unshaven chin before plopping back into the sink and causing minute ripples on the surface. He watched the water until it was still and calm. He preferred it like that. He stared at his face again.

'_What is wrong with me?'_ he thought.

It had been the same as long as he could remember. Nightmares, dreams, visions, sights—they came so frequently now that he was finding it difficult to distinguish them from reality, Most of the time they were repetitive, like the drowning one, but sometimes they were different. Images of the past, present and future, and guest-starring the people closest to him. Those were the ones he never told anyone about, and for good reason. While the repetitive ones were abstract, symbolic maybe, he occasional ones were crystal clear, like moving portraits in his mind. He had seen things happen that no person should ever have to see or want to know. He kept quiet. After all, how could you tell your step-father that you had seen his death? How do you tell your mother that you know she isn't really your mother?

Of course, it wasn't always negative events he saw. He had seen the King and Queen's coronation, her pregnancy, the birth of the princess, all before they'd happened, but he had been a child then. He had discarded them as quickly as old toys and books. The vision he'd had at baby Raisse's crib side had been the turning point. He had been so scared that he had refused completely to see her for months afterwards, lest it happen again. Now, sixteen years later, he had had no more visions directly involving Raisse since, which only meant that he was unable to forget that first one and every night that he stood in front of that mirror, he knew that he, and she, were one night closer to the moment when it would come true. He had never seen how it ended, and that just made its inevitability all the more horrifying. He could not even begin to describe his elation every morning when he saw her and she was not dressed the same as in the vision or she had her long, blonde hair up in some complicated style. As far as he was aware, she never wore her hair loose and she didn't own a dress even remotely like the one he had seen her in, and that gave him hope. Hope that maybe this was one vision that would never come to be.

He adored the young princess. He had grown up protecting her like an older brother, although technically he was her step-uncle. He knew that he would not be able to live with himself if anything were to happen to her, not when he could save her.

And so it was with fear, yet weary relief that he stood half in shadow by the mirror, knowing another twenty-four hours had passed and Raisse was safe. Or was she? He'd better check.

"Show me the princess," he whispered.

The mirror sparkled, and then flashed before showing him the image of the sleeping princess. He hated doing it, he knew it was an invasion of her privacy and if anyone found out about, he'd be in trouble, but he also knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep himself unless he saw her safe and well which, happily on this occasion, she was. He smiled faintly, then turned away and blew out the candle, then made his way back to bed to try and steal back a few hours of sleep.

Every night. Regular as clockwork.

* * *

Outside Chip's window, and Raisse's window, and indeed outside every window of the castle, for it could be in several places at once, the dark figure was waiting. Another night was drawing to a close, which meant time drew ever nearer to the moment when his plans would finally become solid. The boy was feeling it, he could tell, and it would be very soon now. 

The little man…that pitiful man, who had been slaving away all these years, obsessed with love and revenge, and being driven slowly crazy by his continuous failures to achieve what he wanted. Well, soon it would be time to put the fool out of his misery and set in motion a chain of events, climaxing in the ruin of the kingdom and the creature finally claiming what was rightfully its to claim.

Yes…it would be very soon now…

It slunk off as the castle slept. Half in shadow.


	6. Under the Thrall

Hi everyone! Welcome to my update. A few words from your author: Funnily enough, I have never summoned a demon and I am not a Satanist so there may be several inaccuracies in the following chapter. I got my info from various very scary websites, god bless the internet, and would like to say a hearty 'Don't Try This At Home' just in case! Now, enjoy...Oh, and please, please review, thank you!

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Chapter Five: Under the Thrall

1767

_He was running. It was springtime. Everything was in bloom and beginning the slow, wonderful journey into life. The trees were alive with soft, pink blossoms and ripe, green leaves shining with dew. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a gentle blue with small puffs of fluffy cloud dotted here and there. The lazy sun was just beginning to ascend to the heavens where it would shine warmly over the towns and villages below._

_He was running, although he was not built for speed. His legs were far too short, his frame too heavy, and the tell-tale beads of sweat were starting to appear on his forehead. He did not notice though. He was happy because nothing made him happier than running to catch Gaston's prize. The musket shot had sounded mere seconds beforehand and the moment he had heard it, Lefou had started running. Gaston would hit it, of course he would, he never missed—and lo, there was the bullet, there was the soft thud as it pierced the heart of the biggest goose; the one leading the flock. The rest dropped formation and scattered all over the sky, all fearing the feel of a slug in their tails, but Gaston had used his one bullet—one was all he needed—and has used it well. The lone bird started to tumble towards the ground—fifty feet or so beyond the point where Lefou was now standing, his eye trained to the sky. Fifty feet away. He would catch it this time. He knew it. He started to run again._

"_I got it! I got it!" he cried as he ran, feeling the fragrant air whistle past his large ears. Gaston was strolling along somewhere behind, watching his lackey. Lefou knew he was. If he could just catch this goose first time and feel the delightful thump of its body as it hit his chest, stroke its feathers with his sweaty hands, Gaston would smile, and when Gaston smiled at him, he often felt fit to burst with pride._

_He was almost there. The bird was mere feet above him. If he just pushed himself that little bit more and stretched out his podgy arms a little bit further…_

_The goose landed on the floor, inches from where Lefou's feet stopped. He was so close. Suddenly, he began to feel dizzy. His heart-beat echoed too loudly in his ears. THUMP THUMP THUMP. He bent over and put his head in his hands. So close._

_The heavy footfalls of Gaston's best leather hunting boots grew louder. They sounded angry. They never used to be, Lefou was sure of it, yet there they were, stomping along. Surely he wasn't mad. He'd tried so hard this time. He raised his head and craned his neck to look into Gaston's big blue eyes. Blue as the sky. They weren't blue though. Not anymore. They had been once. Now they were dark, so dark. How he wished they were blue again._

"_Lefou…" said Gaston._

_Inexplicably, Lefou began to sob. His voice was wrong. It was all wrong…but it was Gaston. He knew it was. Gaston, the proud hunter, whose picture hung on every wall. His friend._

"_Shut up!" snarled Gaston, baring teeth that were maybe just a little too pointy. "You have failed me again, Lefou!"_

"_I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," sobbed Lefou._

"_You can't do anything right. You're useless!" he boomed._

"_I know…I know, master."_

Wait a moment…Master? Where did that come from?

"_Master?" chuckled Gaston. "Why, whatever are you babbling about, Lefou? It's me, Gaston."_

"_I know, Gaston. Sorry…I don't know why I…"_

"_Hmmm…," said Gaston, as he stroked his perfect chin. "On second thoughts, I think Master works well, don't you? After all, do I not tell you what to do? Do I not rule you? Do you not owe me your life?"_

"_Ye…yes, Ga…Master. I do," whimpered Lefou._

"_Look at me, Lefou. Look what you did to me."_

_Lefou was obedient. He gazed at his friend, and was horrified. His once-handsome face was a mess, lined with angry cuts and bruises. His favourite red shirt was torn and bloody. His shooting arm was suddenly bent the wrong way. His other arm was dislocated. Gaston laughed and turned around. His skull was smashed in. Lefou wanted to vomit but nothing came out. His tears were flowing fast now._

"_You did this to me, Lefou," hissed the thing that couldn't be Gaston. "It's all your fault."_

_Lefou couldn't speak for blubbering. The sky, the meadow, the trees in bloom—they had all disappeared. Everywhere was black._

"_I was relying on you, Lefou. I needed you. You let him kill me."_

"_But…but…" sniffed Lefou. "I tried, Gaston, I tried! I couldn't get to you."_

"_That is a pathetic excuse and you know it! You let yourself be beaten by furniture! That is cowardly. No friend of mine would have let that happen!"_

_Lefou curled himself up into a ball, tears threatening to swallow him whole._

"_I…I miss you, Gaston. I miss the fun we had together. I'd do anything for you. I tried, I really did."_

_Gaston knelt down next to him, and gently tilted his chin up to look at him again. His face…it was whole once more! Even his eyes were blue!_

"_You must try harder, Lefou. I need you to help me. You're almost there. Just a little bit longer."_

"_But…but…I can't do it! It's hopeless! I've tried everything!"_

"_You must never give up. Would I give up?"_

_Lefou shook his head dejectedly._

"_Gaston?" he whispered. The bigger man knelt closer. "I don't like it. It scares me. Is there another way? What if it all goes wrong?"_

"_It won't go wrong. Not this time."_

"_Really? You think so?"_

"_Of course. I'm never wrong. You just need to try a little bit harder. For me. Can you do that, Lefou?"_

_Lefou leapt to his feet. "Oh, I will, Gaston! I will! I'll do it this time. I'll make you proud."_

_Gaston grinned, his teeth white and perfect once more. "That's what I like to hear! Now, go! Get started! Vengeance must be ours."_

"_Vengeance must be ours!" repeated Lefou._

_As Gaston faded away, the daylight returned. The birds were singing and the grass was swaying gently in the breeze. The sunlight was brighter now and it shone in Lefou's eyes. He awoke. It was morning._

* * *

Seventeen years. Almost half his lifetime. That's how long Lefou had spent trying to avenge Gaston. Every new moon, regular as clockwork. He had repeated the ritual over and over again, but to no avail, and every time he wanted to give up, every time nothing materialised out of his chants and talismans, every time he realised his ordeal was fruitless, he dreamed of Gaston and his faith was restored. After all, Gaston was always right and Gaston needed him. It gave Lefou an enormous sense of well-being knowing that. Gaston needed him. It almost made the long hours of tedious torture worthwhile. Almost. Lately, Lefou was having doubts. The dreams had always been the same—the hunt, the bird, Gaston—but during the last couple of years or so, he'd noticed things. Things that weren't right, Things that made him wonder if it was even Gaston in his visions, or an impostor. Something was slipping.

Yet, he carried on. It was the same routine, month after month. He would wake up refreshed and then head into town. He liked being in town. It was once again what it had been before. Traders sold their wares from barrows. Wives bought their weekly groceries. Children laughed and played as they went to the schoolhouse. Even the tavern was busy once more. It was not the same place--it never could be—but it was a haven for the men of the town again. Gaston's portrait was still there, as was his chair, but now they were treated as relics, artefacts of a bygone era. He had started to become a legend, a myth. Some nights, the patrons would gather round the fire and tell stories about him, most of them greatly exaggerated.

"Why, he was near ten feet tall! His legs were like tree trunks and his hands were like the paws of a bear!"

"Once, he fought a giant stag with his bare hands! I saw it! Almost gouged him it did, but he fought back, and he got it! That there's its antlers on that wall."

Then, the crowd would gasp and whisper excitedly amongst themselves as the fire died down. Lefou never went in there anymore. It had lost its sacredness. He did not like the way Gaston was being reduced to a tall tale. They'd even started brewing an ale named after him. Lefou had tried it—it was nothing remarkable, it was not worthy of carrying Gaston's name—yet it was their best seller. He hated it. How dare they! None of them really knew Gaston, not the way Lefou knew him. Only he had spent every day with him, only he had been there through the good and bad times, only he truly cared about him. That was why he was the only person alive who could avenge Gaston's death, yet he also knew he could not do it alone. He needed help. That was what the rituals were for.

So it was, one moonlit night, like so many other previous nights like it, Lefou sat on the floor of his cottage surrounded by the many books he'd accumulated over the years and many examples of occult paraphernalia. He had marked a circle with white cord and placed black candles around its circumference. There was another circle outside that one formed from crushed herbs. It was supposed to protect him, yet so far it had never been needed. Lefou sat completely still in the centre and visualized the circle all around him. He wasn't even sure what or who he was summoning, but he knew in his heart, it would help him—if the ritual worked, that was. He drew a pentagram with chalk and lay down within it, aligned with its points. Mentally, he called out, and prepared himself for failure once more.

The candles went out. He was in total darkness. That had certainly never happened before. There was obviously a draught coming from somewhere. Curses! Now, he would have to start all over again. Lefou sat up, allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom, and screamed. Rather, he tried to scream but his vocal cords had been shocked into a state of silence.

There was a creature in front of him. It was almost invisible; blending seamlessly with the darkness, but it was definitely there. Its eyes met Lefou's and seemed to bore right into the back of his skull. For the briefest of moments, Lefou was elated. It has worked! After all these years! Finally! His joy did not last long, however. It was quickly replaced by fear. He was icy-cold, and he was terrified. His stunned mind desperately searched his memory banks for the best way of addressing a demon, for it did not speak to him at first. It just kept on staring. Could it be a hallucination?

Miraculously, Lefou found his voice.

"Are…are you the almighty being whose coming was foretold to me?" he squeaked.

"I am," it replied. Its voice, if you could call it that, made Lefou shudder. It sounded like dead leaves and shadows. A harsh, yet velvet-like whisper.

Lefou struggled to remember the next line.

"I embrace…no…I long to embrace…er…eternal…"

"I have been waiting for you, Lefou."

It knew his name, and it was ignoring the sacred texts that every book on the dark arts had said were necessary when first engaging a demon. What manner of forsaken creature was this?

"It is time. You have been patient and for that you must be commended. It takes a man of indomitable spirit and inner strength to endure what you have these past seventeen years. You have my respect."

"Th…thank you," gulped Lefou.

The creature grinned. _Fool! _it thought. _This little man will be no sport at all! He bends so easily to my empty praise, and he accepts my words readily. It will be so easy._

"I…I am yours, oh great one. I am your devoted slave if you will help me right my wrongs. Your will is my own."

The creature grimaced behind its grin. _What is this drivel he is spouting? Nonsense words from heretic's scriptures, no doubt. Mortals are indeed easily led, even by their own kind._

"I know what it is you seek, Lefou. I can help you attain it, but you must help me also. Are we agreed?"

Lefou rose shakily to his feet. "Yes, master," he whispered. "What must I do?"

The creature moved like a shadow and engulfed its willing victim.

"Listen carefully," it hissed.


	7. Chip and Raisse

Chapter Six: Chip and Raisse

1767

The sun shone over the fields and streams of France. It was a golden afternoon, alive with the bright colours of summer. Blue skies with white clouds merged with the intense greenery of trees and fields. Every so often, there was a patch of blue in the green; a river maybe, or a lake, reflecting the sky and standing out in stark contrast. Stark and beautiful. Cris-crossed over the green were lines of brown or yellow which led to larger bursts of colour. Roads leading to villages and towns, each one with its own unique colour spectrum. The reddish-brown of rooftops, the silver and blue fountains, the market-squares with their array of goods and people; it was an artist's palette of life.

A castle shimmered nearby. It was grand and white, with its own extensive lands and out-buildings. It stood at the end of a causeway at the edge of the forest, surrounded by rocky mountains and dark canyons. In some lights, it could appear sinister and foreboding, especially at night when the wolves howled and the bats screeched, but most of the time, as it was now in the height of summer, it shone like a miniature silver city. Beyond its walls and gardens, far from the hustle and bustle of the town, and stretching as far as the eye could seem was a huge expanse of unexplored country. Fields and fields of wild flowers and long grasses capped with large stony hills and dales. There were clumps of trees dotted here and there among the sward, and even occasionally the remains of long-forgotten structures, although they were now little more than piles of crumbling stone, lost to time. At the foot of one particularly long chain of hills was a small lake. It was never empty yet never overflowed, and was fed by a frothy waterfall that poured from somewhere above, The whole place was an unspoiled paradise and unknown to many, for it was often seen as belonging to the royal family, when in actuality, it belonged to no-one except itself and the few animals that—rabbits, deer, birds—that inhabited it.

If the sun could see, and if it could know what it shone down upon, it perhaps would have noticed a sudden disturbance in the stillness of its view. A speck of something was moving quickly through the land. It was a horse—a powerful sandy-coloured stallion—galloping through the grass and sending small clouds of dry mud wisping up into the air with its pounding hooves. Atop the horse was a rider, clad in white and brown so his bottom half right down to his black riding boots seemed to blend into the horse itself. His hands, rough and calloused from many hours of miscellaneous manual labour, gripped the reins of the horse tightly as it sped along the ground. His shirt billowed behind him like the sail of a ship. He wore it loose and untucked in an attempt to stay cool yet the v-shaped notch of skin visible where his top buttons were undone showed the sweat and strain of riding vigorously in the sun. He would find that he was sun-burned when he bathed later but at this point in time, all the rider thought about was the adrenaline pumping through his veins and the coolness of the wind as it ran through his dark-blonde hair. Ti him, it was bliss; a temporary release from his burdens and troubles. Just for a moment, he was free.

Chip's early morning rides had become something of a ritual; an essential part of his day. After he'd finished his morning duties and taken a breakfast of sweet, warming porridge with honey, he went back to the stables and chose a horse to accompany him on his excursion. Of course, there were some horses he never selected. Samson, a magnificent white charger, was the King's favourite, which he often took with him on hunting trips. The Queen's horse, her beloved Philippe, had passed away many years before. She now rode the filly Philippe had sired with a mare named Francoise, also now deceased—a high-spirited amber-coloured steed she had named Alouette. Then there was the princess's horse, a mischievous palomino she called Puck, after her favourite Shakespearean character. Then, of course, there were the ceremonial horses. Used in processions and to pull the royal carriage, Chip thought them stuck-up lazy animals. They often refused to move any faster than a snooty trot and even seemed to turn their long noses up if they were fed anything other than the finest oats money could buy.

The remaining horses were a random mixture of fillies, mares and stallions that the King had discovered in various fairs and taken a liking to. When asked why he bought so many, he merely smiled and said he was making up for the time he lost when horses would have collapsed under the bulk of his former ego. Those in the know laughed. The rest went away puzzled.

Chip's favourite was the one he rode now on that blistering day in July. His twenty-first birthday present from the King and Queen, now a year older, Ambrosius. Together they rode on along the earth, scattering ground beneath them, until Chip happened to glance up and squint at the sun high above him in the sky. It was midday. Time to return to the castle.

As Chip trotted into the stables, about half an hour later, he smirked, seeing a familiar figure in a green and gold gown, stroking Puck as he peered playfully out of his stall. A couple of bored-looking attendants were fanning themselves nearby. As Chip slowed to a halt and dismounted, the figure noticed him and strode, an unnatural gait for a lady of her stature, towards him, dirtying her new and impractical emerald-coloured slippers as she went. She met his gaze with a haughty expression, her eyebrows raised far above her wide, brown eyes.

"Good afternoon, your highness," he said half-mockingly and a little out-of0breath as he started to guide Ambrosius into an empty stall.

"Well perhaps it can be now. I have been waiting almost an hour, you know. These rides of yours are getting longer and longer."

"The longer I ride, the less time I have to endure your scowls, Raisse," retorted Chip, grinning to himself as he imagined the look on her face behind him. The look she did when she was pretending to be angry that strongly resembled a bulldog chewing a wasp. He heard her over-exaggerated gasp over his shoulder as he removed Ambrosius' saddle.

"The very nerve! Did you hear that, Essie?" She was addressing one of the attendants who were looking ready to collapse in the heat. "The gentleman, a mere stable-boy, is saying that a smelly, sweaty horse is preferable company to a princess of France. Have you ever heard such a thing?"

"No, my lady," grumbled Essie, clearly already tired of their banter and longing for a glass of water. She rolled her eyes at her colleague, a disgruntled older lady known as Minnie.

Raisse stepped into the cool stable, carefully avoiding the dirtier areas of hay. Chip was busy untacking Ambrosius.

"Why, whatever can this…beast possess that I do not?" she asked, her eyes flicking to the top of Chip's head which was already strewn with grass seeds ad straw. She frowned and reached up to remove a bigger seed from his hair. He caught her hand as she attempted to pick it up.

"An even temperament, easier to please…" his eyes drifted down to her feet. He smirked. "Cleaner shoes, perhaps? Hold these."

He placed the reins in the hand he held and moved to the other side of the horse. Raisse looked puzzled and then noticed the specks of mud on her new slippers. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I have others."

"Not for much longer at this rate. What would your mother say if she knew you'd ruined yet another pair, I wonder?"

"I'd blame you. You were late and I was bored with waiting in the conservatory. Therefore, I was forced to come down to the stables to look for you."

The conversation continued in this manner for a few minutes while Chip finished with the horse. The whole court agreed that the relationship between Chip and Raisse was confusing at best. They spent most of their time trading insults and arguing with smiles on their faces. Both neither serious, nor wholly joking. Because Chip was quick-witted and Raisse loved being right, their banter would often go on for hours. Only when they were alone together did it stop, almost as if their public behaviour was a show. Indeed, separately, and with other people, they were both known for their charm and good natures, and both consequently adored by almost everyone. Almost everyone. Chip, in particular, was sometimes looked at with stern eyes and talked about with muttered voices.

"There's something odd about that boy," they said.

An hour later, they were in the conservatory. Chip sat on the floor carving something from a piece of wood he'd found while Raisse lay on the chaise-longue with a book on her lap that she wasn't reading. This was how they often spent their Wednesday afternoons. The King and Queen were visiting neighbouring kingdoms and it was Raisse's ladies' afternoon off, so it was Chip's responsibility to amuse and keep an eye on Raisse for a few hours, a responsibility for which he was playfully dubbed 'Raisse's pet Jester' by Lumiere.

On this particular afternoon, Raisse had pretended to study for half an hour when she had become bored. A particularly draining history lesson with Cogsworth(who had appointed himself her unofficial tutor), that morning, had meant her receipt of a very dull book on fourteenth-century European politics that he insisted she revise for a test he was planning. No matter how hard Raisse tried to concentrate, she became increasingly distracted—by the sun glinting on the glass, by a thread she was unravelling from a cushion, but mostly by Chip, whittling in the corner.

He worried her. He was her closest companion in the castle and she had known him all her life yet there were parts of him that were a complete mystery to her. She often remembered when she was little how bright and full of life Chip had been, as he had swung her around in the garden or read to her from her mother's library and acted out the stories. Of course, she was too big for swinging now and had grown out of the stories a long time ago, but she was young enough still to retain an inquisitive outlook on the world, and Chip was one big unanswered question to her. Recently, in the last few years or so, he seemed to have lost that sparkle, that energy, that made him…well…Chip, and whenever she looked into his eyes lately, she could almost sense something lurking there deep inside him that he didn't tell anyone, not even her.

"Chip?"

"Mmm," he murmured, focusing intently on the knife chipping away at the wood in his hand.

"Tell me a story."

"Are you not a little old for stories?"

"Please."

"What kind of story?"

She paused for a second; unsure what sort of reaction she was going to get with her request.

"A story about you."

The wood slipped, causing Chip to yell in pain although it didn't hurt.

"Ow!" he exclaimed.

"What is it?" said Raisse, as she jumped off the chaise-longue, causing the book to fall to the floor with a thud.

"Nothing. A splinter, that's all."

"Let me see."

She thought she saw Chip scowl for a moment, and then reluctantly he held out his hand for her observation. Embedded deeply in his forefinger was a thin sliver of wood.

"Have you got a needle with you?" he asked her.

"No need," she grinned as she showed him her long, manicured nails. He sighed.

"Go on, then!"

She studied his finger for a moment, and then said, "Tell me why everyone calls you Chip."

He looked at her, puzzled. "It's a nickname. It's short for Charles. You know that."

"No, Charlie is short for Charles." She stopped suddenly. "Actually, Charlie takes longer to say…," she mused.

"Well, there you go then. Chip's shorter."

"Is it from when you were a tea-cup?" said Raisse, staring only at the splinter. She He stiffened. She could feel him tense up, and she felt yet another question about Chip form in her brain. His reluctance to talk about the enchantment. All the other servants spoke of it often, even shared anecdotes about their lives as furniture and utensils, but for some reason it seemed to touch a nerve with Chip and he rarely talked about it.

Next to her, Chip was watching her as she examined his finger. He knew she wasn't looking up deliberately—she was so predictable—and now she was asking what he knew she had been dying to know for ages. His reluctance to talk about that period in his life just made her all the more curious—he was well aware of that. He supposed now was as good a time as any to start answering some of those questions. Of course, he'd carefully leave out the fact that the enchantment was the first time he knew something was wrong with him—the first time he'd had the visions and dark thoughts.

He began.

"There's not much to tell really. When the enchantment happened, it was evening. I'd just been tucked into bed when I heard several loud bangs resonate through the castle. I knew…" he cleared his throat "…I knew, don't ask me how, that there was danger behind that door. I remember shouting at my mother, 'Don't open it. Tell him not to open it!'

The next thing I knew, I wasn't me anymore. The transformation was really sudden. I didn't even know what I was at first. I started panicking when I couldn't move my arms and then I tried to get out of bed and my legs wouldn't move. They felt fused together somehow. I was screaming for my mother and I could hear her saying something but I couldn't see her. I managed to hop towards the edge of the bed and then I fell off."

Chip suddenly became aware that Raisse had removed the splinter without him knowing and was now clutching his hand and listening to him intently. He swallowed and continued.

"There was no pain. I just landed on the floor and I heard a little smashing noise, like a tinkle, and I could sort of tell that something had happened. I felt something nudging me and trying to help me up, and I could hear my mother shouting my name and crying. Then I was on my feet…well, my stand…and there was this talking teapot in front of me. Somehow, before I even looked at it properly, I knew it was my mother. She was staring at me in horror and then I noticed a shard of china on the floor next to me."

He paused.

"And that's where it came from. I had a chip so everyone started calling me Chip, and I guess it stuck."

He laughed. Raisse smiled.

"Of course, as soon as the enchantment lifted, my mother checked me over several times to see if I was missing anything where the chip had been but I was intact. Whole."

Chip gulped. He didn't feel whole, far from it.

"And…and that's it. End of story. Much more interesting that Cogsworth's book I'm sure."

He turned to look at Raisse. Her hands were on her lap. His had been discarded on the floor, sans splinter. She wasn't looking at him.

"Raisse?"

"I should be studying," she said suddenly and went to pick her book up off the floor. She sat back on the chaise-longue and opened the book randomly, her hands shaking. When he had been telling the story, he'd seemed so open, so vulnerable. He had laughed, like the old Chip. She thought he'd finally confide in her. Then it was as if he'd realised what he was doing and he'd shut off. But before that, for the briefest of seconds, she had seen it. Something had risen to the surface, had looked like it was on the verge of spilling out, and then just as quickly it had vanished again, before she'd really seen it. It was so frustrating.

She stared at the book for the next two hours, not taking in a word of it but not wanting to look up, lest she once again had to witness that…thing…in his eyes. It scared her, but she wanted it. The conflict of the two emotions was too confusing for her to think about. She stared at the book and she could hear Chip carving the wood again, but she didn't stop until she heard her mother return, and she didn't speak to Chip again for a fortnight.

When she finally did, she regretted it.


	8. Dawn and Dresses

Sorry about the wait for this chapter, it got started, then stopped, then started etc. you get the idea, it also is longer than i planned which unfortunatly for you guys, means you have to wait until the next chapter to find out what happens. evil laugh Thanks to TrudiRose for her excellent beta-ing and advice, and a big shout-out to BelleEve (cos I want her to update every ten seconds), and Snowday (the same), and a nod toLumBabsFan (Bring Back Peter!)

**Chapter Seven: Dawn and Dresses**

It was dawn. Reddish-amber streaks of light felt their way tentatively along the ground, vanquishing the remaining darkness of night. Hedgerows glistened with early-morning dew. It had been another unusually warm night. The slowest of the nocturnal animals across the land scurried quickly back into their burrows and hiding places. For a few moments, all was still. It was that uncertain moment between sleep and wakefulness—the transitional period shortly after the sun began to show itself; a glowing orb on the horizon. As it rose, its beams poked lazily into bedrooms and chambers, causing a thousand murmurs and groans as its light hit closed eyelids. Some rolled over in a desperate attempt to steal a few more minutes of precious slumber. Others squinted, shuddered then arose like the undead until refreshing drops of water could awake them fully.

Some, like Cogsworth for example, had already been conscious for well over an hour. He was now conducting his early morning wake-up calls in the servants' quarters, which mainly consisted of him banging loudly on doors and cheerfully bellowing 'Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!' through keyholes.

Morning was Cogsworth's favourite time of day. A few hours of blissful organisation and structured cleaning schedules before the inevitable chaos of castle life took over. He hummed as he hammered extra loudly on the last door—Lumiere's door, incidentally—and then went off to prepare for the morning's activities.

High above him, in the royal chambers situated in the West Wing of the castle, someone else was awake, though she needn't be for another few hours. Raisse sat up on her bed in her finest cotton-and-lace night-gown, her blankets discarded during the heat of the night. A single ray of sunlight played upon her face, picking out the contours of her features. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. She woke up early most mornings as if she were too impatient to wait for the rest of her family. Her ladies had not come to her chamber to help her dress for a few years now—she insisted on dressing alone, as she was quite capable of doing it herself, thank you very much. This was a mutually beneficial arrangement as her ladies were more than happy to have a few hours to themselves in the morning. Cogsworth sneered at this but left it well alone, as it was a women's matter.

Raisse stretched in that way that feels so good after sleeping and got out of bed, almost tripping on the bundle of sheets she'd thrown on the floor. She felt the softness of the delicately embroidered rug between her toes as she padded over to her dressing-table to wash. The cool water, which always miraculously appeared at some point during the night, felt soothing yet refreshing on her skin. She felt the mugginess of sleep leave and her eyes focus. As she dried her face on impossibly soft towelling, they focused on her reflection in the mirror. She was a pretty girl, with her mother's almond-shaped eyes and her father's honey-coloured hair. She knew she was pretty—she had been told it almost every day of her life—but she hated the word. Lace was pretty. Flowers were pretty. She was certain she was similar to neither. She secretly longed to be describes as beautiful. Beautiful was a much more pleasing adjective the delicate simplicity of 'pretty'. It seemed stronger somehow and more complete. Paris in the winter, when the Seine sparkled with ice, was beautiful. The tapestry that hung the entire length of the eastern corridor and depicted the legend of King Arthur, embroidered exquisitely in every colour of thread imaginable, was beautiful. Her mother was beautiful.

Raisse had long ago mastered the art of lacing her corset herself. She was fortunate that her shoulders and wrists were flexible. True, it wasn't nearly as tight as it would have been had she assistance, but she preferred it that way. It was less restrictive and she could breathe freely. When she attended balls and high-society gatherings, it made her wince to witness girls her own age laced up so tightly that their faces were unnaturally pale and wan, and they looked constantly on the verge of fainting. They waved their fans so fast that they made their painstakingly pinned-up hair fly all about their faces like it had a mind of its own.

Raisse scowled. She may not be as physically constrained as the other girls but she was still kept on a tight invisible leash. She was her parent's only child, despite many years of her parents trying for another son or daughter, and therefore their most prized possession. She had been showered with gifts and praises since the day she was born, and she was in no doubt of her family's, and indeed the kingdom's, adoration for her. Her coat-of-arms bore the motto 'Rose of France'-she was the living symbol of her parent's union, the embodiment of their love and the future of France, yet she could not help but feel suffocated sometimes. When she sat bored in the stuffy room used for her studies, and Cogsworth was droning on about the history of the kingdom..("It is important that a princess know her country!")…her eyes would drift to the window. Sometimes she could see the village like a picture-book scene below her—the room was in the topmost tower of the castle—and the people going about their day-to-day lives. The children finishing school—proper school—for the day and laughing as they chased each other down the street. Young lovers embracing on the cobblestones. A group of young women, about her age, sitting by the fountain and arranging each others hair.

She often wondered what it would be like to be there among the commoners, but she knew she would never fit in. She had no idea how to act around them. Every time she had been outside the castle walls, she had been in a coach, unable to interact with anyone except her attendants, but she had seen them lining the streets to see the royal family, gawping and pointing at the majestic coach and proud horses. She'd always felt an enormous sense of pride on those occasions but now, as she thought about it, she was little more than a caged animal; a spectacle for people to view and then forget about.

Now, with her undergarments on, and growing gradually more alert with every minute, Raisse turned to her wardrobes. She had far too many dresses. They hung in colourful rows within ebony walls that were monogrammed with her initials in swirling cherry wood, like all the items of furniture in her bedchambers. All lovingly designed and carved by her grandfather, Maurice, when she was born. With so much leisure time, he had discovered woodworking as a hobby.

She flicked idly through all her dresses, not really looking at any of them as none caught her eye. She was about to use her tried-and-tested method of closing her eyes and picking one at random when she suddenly remembered the new dress her parents had brought back from their recent trip to some country she couldn't remember. She'd better wear that. It lay on a table, carefully folded and wrapped in linen. On closer inspection, she saw that it was blue. That was a refreshing change; she didn't actually think she had any dressed in blue, as unlikely as it sounded. She had it on in barely a minute, her nimble fingers fastening the buttons quickly and then smoothing down the skirts. She was puzzled to find her heart beating just a little bit faster than normal. Something about the dress—the fabric, the colour, the style—made her feel strangely excited, as though she was on the brink of discovering something amazing. She felt suddenly as though as it had always been a part of her; a missing layer of her body. It made her skin tingle, and she hadn't even properly seen it yet. It was bewitching.

Trembling, but with no idea why, Raisse turned to her full-length dress mirror and felt heat flush her cheeks with pleasure. The dress was a perfect fit, emphasising her good points and playing down her flaws. It was not sequinned nor jewelled, yet it seemed to shimmer with an other-worldly glow. She turned and twirled, gasping as she realised it looked truly magnificent from every angle. Dare she say it? Did she look…beautiful?

She practically danced back to her dressing-table and started to comb her long golden tresses. Her hair was naturally wavy—a fact that normally made her scowl and hide it by sweeping it up with various pins and ribbons. She reached for a pin and found herself changing her mind. No…it just wouldn't look right with the dress. The dress deserved more than that. She would leave it loose so it flowed down her back; a delicate cascade of soft curls, with just a few pins at the front to keep it out of her eyes. She did this and admired it in the mirror. The look was complete. Raisse couldn't help feeling, in her dream-like state, that there was some secret significance to it all. Today would be a day like no other, she could tell. She shivered with anticipation.

Chip.

She could not account for the way his name darted into her mind so suddenly, but it was accompanied by a real sense of longing for her companion. She wanted—no, needed—to see him. She hadn't seen him for almost a fortnight. It had been surprisingly easy to avoid him, like practically every other one of the castle's inhabitants. She could hardly remember why she had decided not to see him in the first place, and she certainly hadn't intended it to be for so long, but what angered her, what prolonged his estrangement, was the fact that he had made no attempt to talk to her himself. It was almost as if he was not bothered by it, Of course, Chip never seemed to care much about anything anyway, but Raisse could not help feeling hurt that he had not come running after her, demanding she talk to him. After all, he was her only friend, if she could even call him that. Did that mean nothing to him?

Enough was enough. She would find him that instant and then revel as she witnessed his delight in her presence and his admiration for her new dress.

She smiled and went to find him, because she knew exactly where he would be.

Chip brushed Ambrosius' coat carefully and methodically from left to right, feeling the smooth grain of the brush beneath his fingers and marvelling how the short yellowy-brown hairs gleamed into one as he brushed them. Sometimes it seemed so shiny, he fancied he could almost see his reflection, especially when a ray of sunshine pushed through the gap in between the wooden slats of the stables and fell on Ambrosius, turning his already light coat almost golden. If there was a reflection, it was over very quickly and Chip was glad of this as he knew how awful he looked this particular morning. He'd had the dream again last night, only this time it was even more vivid and real. So much so that, when he'd broken free of it and sat up in bed, his skin teeming with cold drops of sweat, he'd been surprised to find he was still alive and had pinched himself all over to ascertain that he was, in fact, real and breathing still, if a little heavier than usual. He hadn't slept from that moment on—he didn't dare. Instead, he had lain awake thinking about anything and everything there was to think about in order that his brain be too active to slip out of consciousness again.

He had succeeded in that endeavour until just before sunrise when he'd leapt out of bed in a manner that was far too energetic for someone as tired as he, dressed himself hurriedly in yesterday's discarded shirt and trousers, and raced outside to feel the warm damp glow of the early-morning sun on his face. Ever since then, he'd been in the stables grooming the horses for the day ahead. There was to be a hunting trip for the King and the more senior members of the household later that day followed by a coach ride to the nearest kingdom to continue negotiations and discussions regarding possible husbands for the princess, something Raisse was well aware of but never spoke about.

Raisse.

Chip hadn't seen her for a few weeks and secretly he was glad of it. He needed to stay away from her for a while and his plan to frustrate her into one of her haughty alienating moods had worked perfectly, if a little too well. He knew how much she wanted him to open up to her and he'd used this to make her angry with him, but he couldn't forget the look on her face she'd tried to hide when she'd jumped up to resume her studying. There was the desired anger, but accompanying it seemed to be fear, and he knew Raisse was not easily scared. It was a little unsettling.

He tried to look on the bright side. As long as he didn't see her, his vision could not come true and that was fine by him. There was another reason he was avoiding her but he'd pushed it to the back of his mind deliberately. He had to deal with more pressing problems first (although he had no idea how) so he brushed Ambrosius with dark-shadowed eyes and messier-than-usual hair and tried not to think about it, although it occupied his mind nonetheless.

He had almost finished with Ambrosius and was removing the hairs from the brush when Raisse appeared at the doorway. She startled him so much that he dropped the brush and then promptly tripped over it.

"Damn it, Raisse! Weren't you taught not to sneak up on…"

His words died in his throat and dried to form a lump in need of swallowing. He felt what little colour he had drain from his face and his heart beat loudly and forebodingly in his chest.

Her hair was loose. That was the first thing he noticed. Then he saw the dress he thought she did not own. She was the very image of the first vision he had had, the one that had never stopped haunting him. She spoke, and her voice seemed distant as he felt himself go dizzy and light-headed. He sat down on a nearby stool, staring straight ahead and trying to regain some control.

"Good day, Chip. I came to see how you were. What are you staring at? (giggle) Oh, do you like it? Isn't it beautiful? And my hair...yes, I know it's different but I fancied a change. What do you think? (pause) Are you alright?"

Her question was met with silence.

"Chip?"

Silence.

"Chip, you're scaring me!"

With great effort, Chip stood up, trying to appear as normal as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was alarm her. He held on to the wall for support.

"I'm fine. Really. I had no breakfast and the heat must have gotten to me. Plus, you made me jump. You really shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

He tried to laugh, but it sounded just a little hysterical so he stopped and hoped she hadn't noticed.

"Are you sure you're alright? You don't look well."

He coughed a little too loudly, as though he was trying to clear his brain rather than his throat, and bent to pick up his brush.

"I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. How are you? What...what are you doing here, Raisse?"

Her face reddened a little.

"I came to see how you were, because I…I hadn't seen you for a while, and I was wondering if you were ok. Also, I thought I might accompany you on your ride for a change. Prepare Puck for me please."

"I don't think it's such a good idea," said Chip, as his mind whirred with possibilities and inevitabilities.

"Why not?" Her tone was more challenging than inquisitive.

"Don't you have lessons this morning? You know how irate Cogsworth will get if you are late."

"Cogsworth is preparing for the hunting trip. I have nothing to do."

"Still, I don't think the King and Queen would be too happy about you riding with me."

"Why not?"

Chip could only pretend he hadn't heard her as he fiddled with a bridle. His gift for inventive excuses and convincing lies had apparently temporarily left him.

"Why don't you want me to go riding with you, Chip?" said Raisse, softly yet aggressively.

She had folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, which Chip knew meant she was about to go into what he called 'princess mode.' He didn't answer again as he desperately tried to think of reasons for her not to go. Any other time, he would have been more than happy to have her with him, sharing the one thing that gave him pleasure, but he knew that if he spent time with her today, he had little chance of preventing what was going to happen.

"Chip, I order you to take me riding."

There was the 'princess mode' There was usually no denying her what she wanted when she used her status against him. Luckily, she didn't do it often.

Chip thought hard. In his vision, they were on foot. They weren't riding horses. They were running. Maybe it, whatever it was, wasn't meant to happen until later on when he had more time to prepare for it. Still, he'd have to keep his wits about him. He took a deep breath, knowing that his next words would trigger a chain of events he had feared for sixteen years.

"Yes, your highness."


	9. The Day to End All Others

Good morrow everybody! Please find below my extra-long update thats taken me a loooooong time to finish, stupid characters wandering off on tangents by themselves! A big thanks to all my reviewers and the workshop gang, as always. The words 'chill' and swept' are property of my sister, who served as my human thesaurus for a lot of this chapter, so i promised i'd give her a mention.Once again, this has not been beta'd cos i just want to get it posted now so I can take a breather, but a big thank-you to Trudi for her continued help. Oh, and there is one use of bad language in this chapter, you have been warned!

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**Chapter Eight:- The Day To End All Others**

The atmosphere was strained as Chip and Raisse, 'Le Rose de France', trotted idly across the fields. They had been out for barely ten minutes and already the princess was bored. The delicate clip-clop of her pony combined with the early time of day and the lack of conversation between herself and her riding partner was making her feel sleepy. Even Puck, a particularly energetic young horse, seemed to be on the verge of collapsing into the long grass for a nap under the morning sky. Raisse glanced across at Chip, astride his beloved Ambrosius. He was staring straight ahead and sitting perfectly still in his saddle except for the gentle rhythmic sway of his upper body as the horses trotted on. He had not uttered a word since leaving the stables, yet seemed constantly aware of her presence beside him. Every so often, he would glance across as she was doing, then apparently satisfied that all was in order, he'd resume not acknowledging her for several metres before doing it again. It was just starting to get on Raisse's nerves. Where was his delight in seeing her? His happiness at their reunion? It had been two weeks since they'd seen each other. Hadn't he missed her at all? It certainly seemed that way as they plodded aimlessly along.

Raisse's attempt at a proud sulk was not working, neither were her attempts to synchronise her glances across with his. It merely made him look away quicker. This was intolerable! Why did _she_ always have to make the first move?

"Chip."

It was not a question; it was a demand for attention. Still, he apparently had not heard her—he was barely hearing the horses' hooves on the dusty ground. His eyes stayed straight ahead, not seeing anything beyond his own mind. Raisse did not like being ignored, whether it was intentional or no.

"CHIP!"

"What?" he yelled back just as suddenly, as though snapping out of a daydream.

"Couldn't we go a little faster? This is tedious."

"I like this speed," said Chip, after too long a pause.

"Chip, I have never seen you ride this slowly."

"You have now," he retorted, still not actively involved in the conversation. It was as if he was in another world, like his own personal cocoon, but a faulty one, as snippets of reality were still filtering through. One of these snippets suddenly jerked him back to the present. In the corner of his eye, he saw Raisse, impatient and stubborn, click her tongue and dig the sides of her feet into the sides of Puck. In an instant, she was racing away, starting to gallop, hurtling towards her unknown fate.

"Raisse! No! "yelled Chip at the rapidly disappearing horse and rider. He gave chase.

Raisse was a fair rider. Her control was a little haphazard at times but her ability to squeeze speed from even the most reluctant of horses was second to none. Puck's legs were a blur as the two of them sped along the ground. Chip, who had switched from riding around on his beloved dog Sultan to horses at the age of seven, had far more riding experience but he struggled to keep up, no matter how hard he willed Ambrosius to go. He kept his eyes on the bouncing figure up ahead, feeling a curious mix of panic and fury well up inside him.

_She's going to fall. She's going to fall_

But she didn't fall, not even when she and Puck swerved to avoid a row of trees at the last minute. Her body moved expertly with the horse's. If Chip hadn't have been distracted by his rising level of anxiety, he would have been impressed. A slight twinge of relief appeared instead, but was quickly smothered by its preceding emotions once more.

He had given up shouting Raisse's name when his voice had vanished into his self-made wind several metres before. He pressed himself as flat against the horse's back as possible, gritting his teeth with determination. It worked, either that or Puck was growing tired of being ridden into the ground, for Chip started to gain on the horse in front. In a few minutes, he was right on Puck's tail. He could see Raisse's hair billowing out almost horizontally behind her. The sleeves of her dress had blown up so they were caught on her elbows. The delicate fabric threatened to tear.

He was alongside her now, and about to shoot her the sternest look he could manage while his skin was stretched tight across his cheekbones the way it was, when she suddenly dropped behind him. With a fluidity that came from years of riding at high speed, Chip turned Ambrosius around as tightly as he could, slowing down all the time until he came to a stop just in front of where Raisse had dismounted and was now standing with her arms folded; a provocative smirk on her face. Puck looked ready to collapse behind her.

Chip whipped himself off the horse and dropped to the ground with a thud. Red-hot anger tore through his senses.

"What the…Raisse…How did you…Why the…"

The words stuck in his throat as he struggled hard to speak without directing a string of expletives at the princess. Her next badly-chosen words saved him the trouble.

"Awake now are you, sleepy head?"

He closed his eyes and held his face in his hands, battling to bring himself back from the brink of violence. It had gotten harder to do these last few years, as the nightmares increased and his frustration with everything grew. His temper, once non-existent, now threatened to engulf him. He opened his eyes and looked around in desperation for something inanimate to kick, but they were in the middle of a field. The only possible recipients of his rage were living, and he knew he'd rather die than harm any of them. Somehow, he managed to gain some control. His anger reduced enough to keep his language clean at least.

"Raisse, what on earth were you thinking?"

"I was just playing around. What _is _the matter with you?"

Her tone was just as defiant. Chip threw the question back at her.

"What's the matter with _me?_ You just…," he said the words with disbelief. "You just sped off! What if you'd lost control, huh? What then?"

"I can handle myself, Chip."

"No, you can't! You haven't got the faintest idea, have you? You haven't got a clue! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"You do it all the time! I've seen you!"

"That's different."

"How is it different?"

"Because I know what I'm doing."

"As do I!"

"No, you don't Raisse! "screamed Chip into the wind, his temples throbbing. "Fucking hell!"

Raisse's eyes widened at his blatant rudeness and disrespect. What on earth was wrong with him? Time was he would have relished the thrill and exhilaration of racing through the grass. He would have laughed, excitement not anger flushing his cheeks red, and then congratulated her on almost beating him. Now, she was not ashamed to admit that underneath her haughty stance, she was a little frightened of him. She would not let him see that though.

"How dare you!" she exploded. "How dare you speak to me like that! Who do you think you are?"

Chip spoke through gritted teeth.

"I am trying to keep you safe, Raisse. It doesn't help me when you thunder off on Puck like there'll be no consequences. You could have been killed, can't you see that?"

"It is not your job to keep me safe, Chip. I don't need anyone to keep me safe! I'm not a child, I'm a grown woman, and what's more, I'm the princess of France!"

"Well, you certainly aren't behaving like it! You're behaving like the spoilt little brat that you are."

Raisse was stunned into silence. There were few words that could hurt her, but Chip's last sentence had been like a slap in the face. To her dismay, she felt hot tears sting the corners of her eyes. Rather than let Chip see her vulnerability, she marched off in a random direction, not caring where she was going and unwittingly heading straight for the day's inevitability. She heard Chip running behind her calling her name. He sounded anxious; he'd obviously realised he'd pushed her too far. _Good!_

"Get away from me, Chip!" she sobbed loudly.

"Raisse, for god's sake, I'm sorry! I didn't mean…" he broke off abruptly.

Startled by his sudden hush, Raisse turned, frantically wiping away any stray tears with her sleeve, to find Chip staring beyond her, with a fresh expression of fear on his face. Puzzled, she turned back, and was suddenly aware of a gentle roaring noise. She looked in front of her. It was a waterfall, strong and majestic in the morning light. A shimmering mist rose gracefully up from the lake beneath it. Raisse found it completely beautiful. She started to walk towards it, relishing as the hot stickiness of her face was cooled by a thousand tiny droplets of water.

"Raisse…".

Another warning from Chip, but this time it was much feebler. She looked back over her shoulder to see him rooted to the spot. His face had turned completely white and he stared unblinkingly at the cascade of water.

_He's afraid?_

Raisse was tempted to laugh out loud. Chip was afraid of the waterfall! Chip, the great adventurer, was scared of something so beautiful. It was almost criminal. Before she knew what she was doing, she was standing at the edge of the lake, watching the soft ripples as the water hit the rocks. It was mesmerising. A quick glance back revealed Chip had not moved. He looked absolutely terrified. Raisse could not help but feel a twinge of disappointment. She'd grown up thinking that Chip could do anything, that he was an invincible free spirit who feared nothing, her hero. Now, she realised he was nothing more than a coward. Not only that, he was an arrogant bully who somehow thought he had the right to tell her—the Princess of France—what to do. Once upon a time she'd thought of him as the one person she knew who really understood her, someone who saw her as more than a figurehead—a friend, a human being. He had become like a stranger to her now. He was just like everybody else.

Crying again, but this time from anger and resentment, Raisse stepped up onto one of the flatter rocks and looked around. The rocks all around the water's edge varied in size from little more than pebbles to massive boulders. In front of her, they seemed to form a path that went right around and behind the waterfall. She smiled mischievously. She wondered just how far Chip would go to save her if he was so desperate to keep her out of harm's way. She moved on the next rock. It was slightly larger than the last and she had to use her hands to pull herself onto it. Once she'd started, she found she couldn't stop. Here she was exploring, conquering nature, getting her far-too-perfect hands dirty—and it felt amazing. Enlightening, mysterious—it almost felt like she was being drawn to the ever-tumbling water by a mystical force, an enigmatic natural magic hidden deep beneath the rocks of ages. She closed her eyes as she clambered on to the next rock, breathing in the spray of the water. It tasted pure and delicious. It made the water at the castle seem vastly inferior, little more than clear mud. She opened her eyes once more and looked down. She was standing about fifteen feet above the surface of the water. The noise of the waterfall drowned out all others, filling her head with its irresistible frothy roar. She had gone far enough now—the rocks up ahead were wet and slippery—and she had no intention of falling in. She was no fool. She hoped she was far enough along for Chip to be a mess of panic below her. It would serve him right for treating her like a common child.

Triumphantly, she turned around, half-expecting Chip to be scrambling up the rocks below her with that pleasing anxiety etched on to his face, but he was not there. He was still on the ground, immobile. Her heart sank. Why wasn't he coming to save her? Surely she was worth more then his cowardice. Or was he doing it to prove a point, as she was? The point that he now cared for nothing, not even her. Raisse prayed that this wasn't true. Yet there he was, still as stone amidst the swirl of the mist.

"Chip!" she screamed above the deafening roar of sound, suddenly not caring anymore if she sounded pathetic. The mist was choking her. Gingerly, she began to climb back down the rocks, feeling ashamed of herself. He was right. She was nothing more than a spoilt, sulky child, hardly the right qualities for a future Queen. All she wanted, now more than ever, was to apologise to Chip and have him hold her and tell it that everything would be alright, like he used to. Then, they would head for home and she would help him with the work around the stables to make up for her stupid and dangerous behaviour. She smiled a little at this and looked once more at her friend below her.

Her smile vanished. Her lips began to tremble. She could feel the colour drain slowly from her face. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out. There was Chip, he still hadn't moved, but this was not what was paralysing every limb of her body and turning them cold like ice. Above Chip's head, there hung a pair of eyes. At first she thought she must be imagining them, but then she realised she could never imagine anything so uniquely terrible. They were cruel, evil eyes--plain as day. They radiated pure malice and scorn.

Whimpering, she stepped backwards as they started to move towards her. She knew little of black magic, only what she'd glanced at in books that were then shut quickly, either by a well-meaning guardian, or by herself, but those eyes reeked of it. She would not have been surprised if she were staring into the eyes of the devil himself. She took another step back, and another. Her foot hit solid rock. She clambered back on to it, nearly losing her footing, but it wasn't the water that mattered anymore. It was those murky-coloured irises, those pupils that were darker than any substance known to her, burning closer and closer. She stepped back again, and felt only air beneath her foot.

Silently, she slipped off the rocks and into the churning water.

………………………………………………………………………………………

The splash of solid hitting liquid brought Chip to his senses. For the past few minutes, he had found himself unable to move. At first, it was the fear. He had seen the waterfall and known. This was it. It was going to happen, and he was powerless to stop it. A tragedy, sixteen years in the making, unfurling before his frozen eyeballs. The noise of the water pounded inside his skull. His ears rang with it. He wanted desperately to be sick, but the dreadful knots inside his gut just would not go away.

He had seen Raisse start to climb in his mind's eye, and he'd tried to call out to her, but no words came. He had tried to run when he'd first gotten over the initial shock, but his legs refused to budge. With sheer horror, he realised he was paralysed, forced to be a spectator to the fate of the princess. This was magic of the most foul kind. He sensed it with every fibre of his being. It swam around his head and distorted his vision, making him dizzy and leaving a blackened taste in his throat. He was beyond disgusted to find that a part of him revelled in it. It was deliciously dark, inviting, and seductive--more satisfying than any mortal pleasure. It rushed through his veins like new blood and made every hair on his body stand up. He was gasping for breath but the choking tasted sweet. He fought it, of course he fought it, it was like any other toxic substance—cigars, extra strong ale, opium—and he pushed it away with his mind. By the time he could think clearly, Raisse was being chased by the same force, and it was winning. He watched helplessly as she moved awkwardly along the rocks, her eyes fixed on something he could not see. Suddenly, she lost her balance and plunged without a sound into the lake. She didn't even scream.

Chip was released with a jerk. He fell forward, his muscles not quite ready for him to regain the command of his own body. He took a deep breath and forced himself up, ignoring the pains and cramps that shot through him. He stumbled to the waters edge and felt fear grip him again. It was the water from his nightmares—there was no doubting it, only now he understood. It hadn't been him drowning, it had been Raisse. He had seen her final moments played under the guise of his. This did not make him any less afraid however. He had hardly ever swum.

"Raisse!", he yelled fruitlessly into the falls. Nothing moved on the surface of the water, not even an extra ripple. Something told him Raisse had never learnt to swim either. Enough was enough. He tore his jacket off and dived into the water.

The cold hit him like a thousand needles piercing him all over his body. He gasped, and swallowed a large mouthful of the vile-tasting water, then promptly coughed it back up. His head broke the surface with his hair dripping in his eyes. His lungs felt fit to burst already, and he had been in the water for mere seconds. Letting adrenaline take over, he half-swam, half-trod water as he moved around the lake looking for Raisse, gripping onto the rocks for support where he could. The water got deeper as he moved further towards the waterfall, where it had eroded the bedrock through centuries of constant hammering. It was relentless. Now, whenever he came up for air, his face was bombarded with spray, and he could feel full well the awesome power of the water as it tried to grind him into the rocks again and again. Every so often, he shouted her name but was drowned out by the water breaking onto the rocks. A minute went by, then another—and still no sign of Raisse, yet Chip refused to succumb to the overwhelming urge to get out before the water claimed two bodies instead of one. He knew he could not keep it up much longer as his arms and legs were starting to stiffen and every mouthful of water he swallowed burned like fire all the way down his throat. He dove under again, kicking his legs as hard as he could and scouring every inch of the area before his air ran out and he was forced to return to the surface, although it was not that much better up there. He flung his arms out and pushed against the water—and suddenly hit something too solidto bewater and too softto berock. He grabbed onto it and peered through the murky gloom. It was Raisse's shoulder.

As quickly as he could, he locked his arm tight around her and swam upwards, struggling against the raging waters. His head finally broke free of the suffocating liquid and he gulped in as much air as he could muster before stretching for the shallower area where he had dived in. He looked quickly at Raisse. The lack of movement in his arms told him she was unconscious. He had to hurry.

With great effort, he lifted her up and flopped onto dry land, before hauling himself out of the water after her. Exhaustion set in as he lay on his side, spluttering up the last remnants of foreign fluid from his lungs. The sun was higher in the shy now and its heat was already baking his skin. Resisting the temptation to just lie down and fall asleep—its warmth was heavenly after the cruel chill of the lake—he crawled through the grass to where Raisse lay half-sprawled on the rock, her long hair obscuring her face.

"Raisse?" he whispered, suddenly aware she had not made a sound since he'd found her. Gently, he swept her hair—now the colour and texture of dull pondweed—off of her face. Underneath, her skin was wan and her eyes closed. She wasn't breathing.

Chip wrangled with another wave of panic coupled with an increasing desire to wake up in his bed, like he had done every other time, and ransacked his brain for the first-aid knowledge that his mother, and Cogsworth combined, had insisted he'd need one day.

_What a time to need it, _he thought, bitterly.

He leant over Raisse, noticing that the dress she's seemed so proud of was hanging off her, revealing cuts and scrapes along the side of her body. Her Italian leather riding boots were gone, her stockings ripped into shreds, revealing bare and broken feet. Everything that made her Raisse was missing.

Without another thought, he pinched her nose and gave her the kiss of life, before pressing underneath her ribcage to try and force the water out of her body, keeping strict count of his breaths and presses all the time,. He repeated the cycle...and again…and again, growing more and more frantic with every second that her body remained lifeless.

Again.

Again.

He finally gave up ten minutes later.


	10. Actions and their Consquences

**Chapter Nine: Actions and their Consequences**

The sun shone stronger than it had ever done before and it still had yet to ascend to its highest position in the sky. It shone on a lake by a waterfall, evaporating the mist as it rose and making the water glint like silver. It shone on the rocks, baking them harder still. It shone on the the tousled head of a man in the prime of his youth as he sat, his knees hugged tight to his chest and his hair drying slowly, by the body of a maiden, her matted hair becoming golden and curled once more around her painfully white face.

Chip sat exhausted, his throat hoarse from the frantic efforts of breathing for two. His hands felt dry and useless. His eyes never left Raisse's closed eyelids, in case he missed the slightest flicker of movement from within them, but he was no fool. He knew of life and death, of mankind's inevitable mortality. He knew that his efforts had been wasted. He knew she was dead.

Raisse.

His Raisse.

Gone…forever.

As he watched, his vision began to blur. He had never cried, not since his childhood. Not even when the dreams turned into nightmares, or when he doubted his sanity for the first time. He hated tears. They represented finality, an end. Once there was nothing else to do, once every breath and bead of sweat had been used to no avail, once everything was over, one cried. It was a release for many, an expression of sadness, a longing to take away the pain. The start of the long process of picking up the pieces and accepting that there was nothing else that could have been done in the circumstances. You had tried your hardest.

It wasn't good enough. Chip hated crying and he refused to cry now. He forced the stinging tears away for they were of no use to him. Tears meant accepting and giving up, and Chip never gave up. It was not over yet.

Later in the day, Chip would swear that he was not in control, not fully. He would swear he was being guided by something within. He had been oblivious to what was about to happen, to what he was about to do, but it had felt so right, so natural.

Whatever guided Chip filled the emptiness that grief had started to form inside him. It sprung from every palpable emotion—anger, sadness, love, hate—and it grew from the void. Like a spectator in his own body, Chip knelt over Raisse so he was astride her. Suddenly, he felt giddy and sick. He felt his mind begin to thud so hard that his eyes shed the few tears he'd kept back. He gasped and swallowed as something took him over. Something beautiful and radiant and bloodcurdling and powerful that was nothing and everything all at once. It possessed every blood cell, every nerve, every vessel of his body, and it made him cry out as its intensity grew…and grew…and grew until he could hold it within him no more. His hands shot out from where they'd been clenched into red fists at the side of his body and instantly attached themselves to Raisse's skin like magnets. They started to throb and glow and Chip fought to stop himself from howling from the exquisite pain. Instead, he bit his tongue until it bled as his hands shook, unable to let go of the skin that seemed to be getting hotter beneath them. It was unbearable yet sublime, like the sweetest ecstasy mixed with the deadliest agony. It flowed from Chip to Raisse, just as Chip was on the threshold of unconsciousness himself.

He watched, adrift and detached from his senses, as she glowed with a white blinding light that enveloped everything around them. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it started to shrink and then vanished somewhere above Raisse's chest.

Just as Chip regained some sort of normal vision and hearing, he was thrown off of Raisse, hitting the side of his head on the ground, as she rolled over and vomited a stream of water onto the grass. It poured from her delicate throat and lungs, giving her the appearance of a living gargoyle on a fountain, for at least half a minute, giving Chip time to groggily sit back up and try to comprehend the scene in front of his eyes.

She was…alive?

This was confirmed as the vomiting ceased and Raisse coughed and spluttered, gulping for air, and then lay on her side, doubled over and breathing raggedly, tears of bewilderment and effort sliding down her cheeks. Pure joy filled Chip like sunshine. Somehow, he crawled to her side.

"Raisse?" he said in a choked whisper. "Raisse?"

Her eyes flickered open. It seemed to Chip they'd been closed so long he'd forgotten how beautiful they were.

"Raisse? Oh my god, Raisse!" he managed as he reached out a shaking hand to touch her face.

Suddenly, she screamed. It was a scream of pure terror and anguish, and it cut through Chip's skin like a knife. Before he knew what was happening, she was up and running in a way he'd never thought possible, her torn dress streaming behind her in tatters. Instinctively, he scrambled to his fee, running a couple of metres before collapsing face-first into the grass. He could move no more. Every muscle he had was numb with something like exhaustion but deeper and more consuming. He had no choice but to let it wash over him, and then everything went black.

……………………………………………………………………………………

The force that had pushed the princess into the water had had no intention of killing her. She meant nothing to it, nothing more than a pawn, a device to get what it wanted and help it reach the state of affairs it had longed for for almost a quarter of a century.

It knew how overwhelming it could be, how terrifying, especially in its ocular form. The girl's face had been wonderful to see. It never tired of that particular expression. It had never experienced pleasure in its most basic sense, only delight in its own cruelty, but that look got it somewhere near it.

The boy had been harder than it thought, but this did not alarm it. It relished the occasional challenge. It happened on so few occasions these days. The mortals were becoming too easy to control. Promises of meaningless things—treasure, love, revenge—ensnared them in its traps so quickly it was disappointing. At least the boy had fought briefly before it overruled him. The boy was special, like no other alive—it was sure of that already, and the restoration of the girl merely proved it. Purely enchanting to observe, if a little sloppy. The boy needed to work on his control but that was easily mastered through practice, and the boy would soon have plenty of time and opportunities for that to occur.

_Yes_, it grinned to itself, _there is certainly potential there._

It slunk through the shadows into the nearest clump of trees where its latest minion was waiting, and grimaced. Lefou lay on the grass, snoring in the sunlight.

"Lefou!" it hissed, not loudly for it never dealt with noise, but softly and inside the man's head. He jerked upright, like a puppet on a string, wincing as a cramp shot through his leg. He was not slim enough nor young enough to be moving so quickly.

"Yes, master?"

"It is time for you to prove your worth to me and take the first step towards the vengeance that you crave. Go to the castle and do as I told you, and do not let me catch you so un-alert again, or there will be consequences for both of us."

Lefou's ears pricked up at the word 'vengeance'.

_Finally! _he thought.

"Yes, master. Your will is my will," he said, and he trotted through the trees on his stumpy legs.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Chip awoke to the sounds of shouts coming from nearby. He felt as if he'd been sleeping forever, but a bleary glance skywards told him it was early afternoon. It had been but an hour, two at the most, since he'd sunk under. A strange heaviness still hung in all his limbs as if he'd subjected his body to extreme exercise, yet it was not sore, more like a dull ache from deep within his bones, making them feel like lead.

With great effort, he moved his left arm up to his face, retrieving some blades of grass that had somehow found their way into his mouth while he had lain there. He had fallen asleep on his front—an unnatural position for him—but he was now sprawled on his side with his legs crooked in front of him. Straight ahead, beyond the grass that swayed with insects so close he could count every leg and wing, he could make out some rocks splattered with water. They filled him with an uneasy dread, its origin one he could not place. He was yet to remember why he lay in a field on a sunny afternoon, but he would soon be forced to.

The shouts were louder, closer, now. He could hear footsteps running towards him. He tried to get up, but was saved the trouble by a rough pair of hands that appeared from nowhere and hauled him to his feet. He was glad of them for he was quite certain he lacked the strength to stand at that moment. His head was swimming. Had he been drinking?

His eyes travelled up the arms that gripped his shirt tight to a pair of broad shoulders, a thick neck and then the tanned face of a man in his late forties with gently greying hair and a wiry moustache. It was Francois DuMaine, head of security at the castle. He had been employed some time after the enchantment, which Chip had always felt was a shame as he would have made an excellent brick wall.

"Francois?" he rasped, his throat dry as sandpaper. The larger man said nothing to confirm his identity, but nodded to the three men that accompanied him.

"It's him alright. Just where the princess said he'd be."

_The princess?_

Suddenly, the day's events started to trickle back into Chip's mind. The horses. The waterfall. Raisse falling, and him being powerless to stop her. The moment of utter despair as she lay motionless in his arms. The shock as she'd woken. The indescribable feeling of…of…he didn't know what.

_What happened? What did I do?_

"Can you walk?" The question was barked at him. Francois had noticed how unsteady he was.

Chip shook his head in the negative, his mind and body wracked with sluggish confusion. At this signal, Francois moved to his left and another man appeared at his right, They took an arm each round their shoulders and half-walked, half-dragged him in the direction of the castle. As they moved, Chip struggled with the curious mix of memories and emotions in his head.

Raisse had been dead, he had been sure of it, yet now she lived. How was that possible? He tried to remember the sequence of events between her death and apparent resurrection, but they were already growing hazy. The feelings though, they lingered—the pleasure and pain, the tingling, the heat—he could still feel traces of them like imprints crawling on the underside of his skin.

_What happened? What did I do?_

These questions and more plagued him until he saw the castle walls loom in front of him like a hidden fortress in the desert.

What had he done?


	11. The Interrogation

Hi everyone! My latest chapter for your perusal. Hope you like it. Thanks and hugs to all my reviewers, and thanks to Trudi for her continued help :)

* * *

**Chapter Ten: The Interrogation**

Chip had never felt so tired, had never welcomed the idea of sleep (regardless of the trouble it brought him) as much as he did upon his entrance into the castle that afternoon. Everything was suddenly too bright and too loud as he was helped through the gates into the courtyard by Francois and his men. The sun made him wince as it hit his face on their emergence from the cool shade of the stone wall onto the unsheltered cobblestones. Chip longed for the cold shadow to continue so he'd never have to feel the hot stickiness of summer on his already aching head again. He wanted his bed and the bliss of sleep. Surely now, the nightmares were not necessary. After all, his visions had seemingly all taken place earlier that day. Things could only get better.

Suddenly, it struck him. He'd beaten it! He'd won! He'd saved Raisse. This was what all those years of sleepless nights and anxious days had led up to. It was over! Relief washed over him and he looked gratefully at the guards. He even managed a weak smile.

Unfortunately, the smile did nothing but earn him a stern look and a stronger grip on his left arm. Chip's face fell as it dawned on him. The guards weren't helping him, they were escorting him. Something must still be wrong.

The castle was eerily silent as they stopped in front of the grand staircase. Where was everybody? Normally, the castle was a hive of activity at that time of day. The midday meal would have been served and the servants would be running all over the place to ensure prompt delivery and a smooth meal. Cogsworth ran a notoriously tight schedule, and luncheon had to be served, then cleared away quickly, and with acute precision, to make way for the afternoon's cleaning tasks, one of which was polishing and waxing the dining room table, but Cogsworth and the household staff were nowhere to be seen. Something was definitely wrong.

The grip on Chip's right arm loosened as Francois spoke to his second-in-command, Andre Tatou.

"Go tell Cogsworth we've got him, and be quick about it. I have duties to attend to," he barked.

"Yes, sir."

The man hurried up to the eastern corridor where he knew Cogsworth would normally be conducting his daily inspection of the suits of armour. This left Chip alone with Francois. They stood in silence, which did nothing for Chip's already fragile nerves.

"Francois?"

It hurt for Chip to talk. He wondered just how long he'd slept with the inside of his mouth exposed to the sun. Francois said nothing. He did not even grunt in response.

"What's going on? I don't understa…"

"Hold your tongue, boy. You're in no position to be questioning me."

The loud harshness of the guard's tone easily drowned out Chip's dry whispers. Chip closed his eyes and took solace in the darkness behind his eyelids. Any minute now he'd wake up. Any minute now.

He heard three sets of footsteps descend the staircase in front of him. The heavy boots of Andre, supposedly hard-wearing for the constant night patrols the guards were required to take part in, were nearest and followed by the unmistakable measured steps of Cogsworth's well-maintained shoes. The third set of footsteps was unexpected. He opened his eyes to see the tall, imposing figure of the King of France behind the two servants. His blue eyes were fierce even from a distance. They had not lost their intensity over the years. The King was still able to silence men with a look. The current expression on his face, one that exuded power and silent anger, filled Chip with dread.

"Your highness?"

It was Cogsworth speaking.

"I must advise against this. I am not sure whether you are in the right frame of mind to deal with it. Please, allow me to undertake…"

"Cogsworth."

Vincent's voice resonated throughout the hall, although he was hardly raising his voice. He cut Cogsworth's chatter off sharply, as he meant to, without losing any of his decorum.

"As much as I appreciate your expertise, this…matter is mine and mine alone to deal with. You may leave us."

"As you wish, sire."

Cogsworth turned to march back to the eastern corridor but not before meeting Chip's gaze. He looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and pity, then walked up the stairs with his arms folded behind his back in the way he'd always done, even as a clock when folding his arms had been difficult.

The icy blue eyes of the King burned into Chip's own. He addressed Francois.

"Take him to my study. I shall join you shortly."

"Not to the tower, sire?"

"No, not just yet."

Chip gulped. _The tower? What on earth was going on?_

"Yes, your majesty."

Ten minutes later, Chip sat in Vincent's private study, looking at the paintings on the walls. He'd never been in here before. It was a room that had been created after the enchantment when the Beast had become the Prince and received all manner of royal duties and paperwork along with a human skin. The chair Chip sat in was comfortable and he felt himself having to once again resist the temptation to slip into unconsciousness. To say he was confused was an understatement. Right then, he would have given anything to wake in his bed again that morning and just stay there. No horse rides, no Raisse, no waterfalls. It had been a bad day…and it was about to get even worse.

The marble doorknob turned and the figure of Vincent entered the room. His long legs strode over to the other side of the desk but he did not sit down. He stood, apparently lost in thought. Chip found the silence unbearable, but he knew better than to break it. Vincent may have been human again for the past seventeen years and the King of France for the past twelve, but he still had some of the Beast in him. He lost his temper very rarely these days but when he did, he was no man to mess with, and Chip could tell he was troubled. The grey hairs and lines around his eyes had become more prominent these last few years. Today, they were more noticable than ever. He spoke, but only to Francois.

"You may wait outside. I would like to talk to Chip in private."

Francois nodded, and did as he was told. Chip was suddenly aware that he was alone in a private room with the King of France. He could not remember the last time that had happened, if in fact it ever had.

"Chip."

The King's voice was controlled and steady, though his stormy eyes gave away his true feelings. The feelings of a man rather than a monarch. One of them unmistakably anger. He did not wait for Chip to answer.

"Are you aware of why I have brought you here?"

Chip could only tell the truth.

"No, sire."

"What happened by the lake earlier today?"

Chip started. That question was much harder to answer than the previous one. Suddenly, he knew that whatever he said or however he tried to explain things, it would go against him. Still, he had to answer Vincent as best he could. He cleared his throat.

"Rai…The princess and I went for a ride through the fields. We stopped by a lake and she...she started to climb up the rocks."

"Where were you when this was happening?"

"I was standing by the horses on the ground."

"Why did you let her climb up the rocks?"

"With all due respect, your majesty, I did not let her. We…had an argument and she climbed the rocks. I guess she did it to annoy me."

Vincent felt his heart melt a little. That certainly sounded like Raisse. She was her father's daughter, there was no doubting that. He wondered what the rocks had to do with what he had deduced from the situation already.

"Continue."

"She kept climbing higher until she was near the waterfall."

"Why didn't you stop her?"

"I…I couldn't, sire. I tried to move but…I couldn't."

"You couldn't move?"

"No, sire, I...cannot explain further. I don't know what happened."

"For future reference, Chip, if my daughter is in danger and under your supervision, you WILL move. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sire," said Chip meekly.

"Continue."

"She started to come down again but then something happened and she started to walk backwards."

"'Something' happened?"

The sharp mocking of the King's tone suggested he did not care for Chip's vagueness.

"Your highness, it…it is my belief that we were both under the control of something indescribable. I think it was some sort of spell."

"What happened next?"

"She fell into the water."

Vincent's eyes widened. That at least explained Raisse being soaking wet.

"I jumped in after her."

"I thought you couldn't move."

"I...couldn't sire, but then I could again. I know it sounds crazy but it's the truth, I swear."

Vincent did not move or speak.

"I jumped in after her and I found her and managed to get her out of the lake, but when I looked, she wasn't breathing. So I tried to revive her…"

"How?"

"Well, first I used the techniques my mother taught me when I was small, but they didn't work."

Chip paused. This was the part that he was still unsure of himself. How on earth could he even begin to describe what happened next? He begged his brain to come up with some answers, but everything was failing him. He still did not know why he was being interrogated."

"I…don't remember exactly what…"

He was cut off by Vincent's voice, as Cogsworth had been earlier. The King had come round to Chip's side of the desk.

"Let me try and help you remember. At approximately midday this afternoon, my daughter ran into the castle soaking wet and completely hysterical. She was also half-naked and the only sense we could get out of her was something about you attacking her!"

Chip was flabbergasted. In his confused and nervous state, he made a series of strange noises before he could manage a full sentence.

"Attacked her? That's ridiculous…that's…"

"Are you calling her a liar?"

Vincent's temper was dizzying. He was almost snarling.

"No…no…sire…no, but that's not what…I mean…I did not attack her. I saved her."

"You saved her?"

"Yes. I don't know how exactly, but…but I knelt over her and I felt…some sort of power…and I touched her…and she glowed….and then she was alive again."

He wanted to hit his head on the desk. He could not have made less sense if he tried. He felt panic rise up inside him and struggled to sound more coherent.

"I would never attack her. I'd rather die than hurt her."

He looked Vincent straight in the eyes, pleading with him to believe him. It seemed to work a little, as he seemed to calm down slightly.

"How would you describe your relationship with my daughter?"

Chip thought quickly yet carefully.

"I respect her as the Princess of France and I serve her as I would serve any member of your family, your majesty."

"But it is not just a professional relationship, is it? You have been close for years."

"Yes, sire…in that case, I suppose I see her as a younger sister a lot of the time."

"So you have no…romantic…interest in her then? Even I am aware that she is becoming a beautiful young woman. Do you not agree?"

Chip stifled a laugh, although he knew this was deadly serious. What a question! Should he lie and risk offending Vincent or should he admit that he had noticed, of course he had, but it would no doubt bring him under even more suspicion.

"Your majesty, I do not look upon Raisse that way. First and foremost, she is the Princess of France and secondly, I have known her since a few minutes after she was born. We… have been close in the past but only ever as friends, if that."

He decided now would be a good time to repeat his point.

"Your highness, I would never hurt her. Never. I don't know what happened earlier but Raisse was unconscious. When she woke up, she must have been confused and disorientated. I wish I could explain better but what happened today…there was something behind it…something that tried to kill her and then helped me to save her…I know it sounds crazy but it's the truth. Please, your highness, ask her…ask her when she's feeling better. I have been in your service all my life, sire, have I ever given you reason not to trust me?"

Vincent's mood softened. He had studied Chip all through that last speech and there was nothing about him that appeared deceitful or dishonest. But…but he had his daughter to think about…

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

"Come in," he shouted.

Two guards appeared in the doorway. Francois stood behind them.

"Yes?"

"Your majesty, we have completed the search of the boy's room as you requested."

Chip felt himself stiffen. They'd searched his room? He was certain he had nothing to hide but why on earth had that been necessary?

"And…?"

"It was clean, but well…I think you'd better take a look at this."

They brought Chip's handheld mirror forwards; the one he stared at every night to convince himself of his own reflection. The guard continued.

"I believe this is the magic mirror which the enchantress left with the rose seventeen years ago. We found it in his room. I instructed the mirror to show me what it had last seen."

A heavy feeling of dread suddenly hit Chip's mind like a rock. He knew exactly what was about to happen. How could he have been so stupid? That was it. He was done for.

The guard repeated the command and adjusted the mirror so Vincent could see the image within. First it showed his reflection, tall and regal in a simple shirt and trousers, then it sparkled and flashed as the image changed to one of Princess Raisse sleeping in her bed from a few nights previously. Chip kept his eyes on the floor, not daring to look. He could almost feel the change in the air as the King's temper began to rise once more.

"Chip, I will give you two minutes to explain this before I send you to the tower."

Chip sighed wearily. He no longer had the energy.

"I have been concerned for Raisse's safety recently, your majesty, so I have been checking to make sure she's safe in her bed at night. I have no excuse for it, but I meant no harm by it. My only concern was for the welfare of the princess."

The King had heard enough.

"Take him to the tower...but do not formally charge him yet. I will speak to the princess and get to the bottom of this matter. Leave me."

He turned away from them and bent over his desk, leaning on his hands for support. He stayed like this for some time, trying to absorb all of the information he had just heard, until he felt the door open behind him. Only one person was permitted to enter without knocking.

"Oh, Belle," he sighed as he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to face his Queen. Her beautiful face was etched with concern.

"Am I to assume you know of it all?"

She nodded.

"I believe him."

"You do?"

"Yes. He adores Raisse. I do not believe he would harm her, not intentionally. Everything's going to be fine, you'll see," she said reassuringly.

He managed a weak smile. When Belle said everything was going to be fine, she was usually right. He put his arms around her, and then gently stroked the side of her hair before leaning down to kiss her.

"What would I ever do without you?"

A twinkle appeared in her eye.

"Well, you'd still be big, hairy and ferocious," she remarked.

He grinned.

"You mean I'm not anymore?"

Belle smiled.

"Why don't you get some rest? I'll go and see if Raisse's ready to talk yet."

He smiled in agreement and nodded. She kissed him again and left the room, making sure to shut the door quietly behind her. Francois still waited outside.

"My lady?" he enquired.

"You may return to your patrols, Francois. The King is not to be disturbed for a few hours. Thank-you."

"Yes, my lady."

Ever the optimist, Belle found herself humming as she ascended the stairs towards Raisse's chambers. What a nasty business! She was sure of Chip's innocence, however. She had watched him grow from a chirpy teacup to a cheerful boy to a charming young man, raised well by his mother. She was certain the truth would out soon, and she knew of Raisse's tendencies towards melodrama. She was proud of her intelligent and talented daughter though.. Soon, she would be married with a family of her own no doubt. The thought saddened her a little, but she knew her daughter was growing up. It was just something every mother had to accept.

She knocked on Raisse's bedroom door with a delicate but firm hand.

"Raisse?"

She turned the door handle and entered without waiting for permission, as mothers are allowed to do in these sorts of circumstances.

"Raisse, sweetheart, are you awake?"

Her brown eyes drifted towards the bed where she had left her only child, distraught and silent, a mere hour before, but it was empty. She gasped.

Raisse was gone.


	12. Identity

Good evening all. A shorter chapter this time, while I decide exactly what I'm putting in the next. It also happens to be the first chapter of my 23rd year on this planet, so it gets special significance! No beta-ing either cos i've been away and haven't had a chance to talk to Trudi yet :p Hope you like it, I really am being mean to Chip at the moment, its for good reason though! Hope you all had a happy Easter :D

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**Chapter Eleven: Identity**

The first thing that Chip did on his arrival in the tower was sleep. As the iron door clanged shut behind him, he collapsed on the bed, closed his eyes and stayed that way for hours. He dreamed of nothing. He had nothing left.

The tower was much cosier than it had been a few decades earlier when it had been little more than a cold stone room with straw on the floor. Now it was basically furnished with a small bed, a chair and a table. Candles burned day and night, providing some light and warmth, and a threadbare rug disguised the stone underfoot, but it was still very obviously a prison cell. Iron bars on the window and door put paid to its otherwise sparse but homely feel. It was hardly ever used, for the King and Queen had few enemies. Its last resident had been a guest at the summer ball who had had on too many glasses of wine and been placed in the cell for his own protection. Come the dawn, he had been let out complete with a sore head and a sheepish grin, and the room had lain empty for months, until now.

Chip was woken by the sound of keys jangling, and realised he was freezing cold. The torches had gone out and his ruined shirt and torn trousers were little protection against the chill that often set in in the early evening. He sat up and pulled the blanket from the bed around his shoulders as the door opened, revealing a familiar figure standing in the gloom. Mrs D'Arbigne, nee Mrs Potts—his mother. Never had he been so glad to see her.

"Ma?" he said softly as he got to his feet.

"Oh, Chip."

She shook her head wearily in response before placing the clothes and blankets in her arms on the bed and taking him in her arms. He hugged her tightly to his chest as her small white head came up no higher than his armpit, all the time breathing in the familiar scent of lavender and camomile.

She released him and he could see she'd been crying. He hated to see his mother cry. It was even worse knowing he was responsible for her tears. She smiled meekly and picked up the bundle of linen once more.

"I brought you some more clothes and a few blankets. I'm sure they forget how cold it is up here."

As Chip took them gratefully and started to undress, his mother went back out of the room and came in again, this time carrying a bowl of hot water, some towels and a covered dish of food. She had long ago perfected the ability to carry several items at once.

"Here's your supper. Some broth and crusty bread. I managed to persuade Chef to give you a bigger portion. You need to keep your strength up, love."

She placed them all on the table and then sat on the chair, watching quietly as Chip removed his riding boots and changed them for the clean socks she'd bought him, secretly wishing it would take longer so she would not have to tell him what she now felt she must. She couldn't hide the truth anymore no matter how long she wanted to keep it inside her. Chip was no longer a child, a permanent angel—he had not been for some time—and now she no longer had the excuse of wanting to protect him. Her continued silence had meant people had gotten hurt, and although she could never claim to know exactly what went on in her son's head, she knew he was different, and she couldn't help but feel she also knew why.

He was fully dressed now and looking every inch a gentleman on the outside. On the inside, it was a different story altogether. He smiled at her and reached for the food, not realizing until now how hungry he actually was. Without wasting another second, he tore the bread and dunked it in the broth before stuffing it into his mouth and relishing in the delicious meaty flavour. He hadn't finished chewing before he dunked the bread again and devoured it, causing a drop of broth to dribble down his chin. Across from him, he saw his mother laugh and instantly felt ashamed.

"Sorry," he mumbled, as he wiped it off with a serviette, before grinning guiltily, and picking up a spoon.

Evelyn couldn't help smiling back. No matter what happened or what she told him, he would always be Chip, and nothing could ever change that. She took a deep breath.

"Chip….," she began, but was cut off.

"I didn't do it, Ma," he said seriously, his bright blue eyes never leaving hers.

"I know you didn't, love," she sighed, "but I think it'll take a bit of time for everybody else to realize that."

"Have they spoken to Raisse yet?"

A pause.

"Raisse's gone, Chip."

Chip hastily swallowed his mouthful before he choked on it.

"Gone?"

Evelyn nodded.

"What do you mean, gone? Gone where?"

"No-one knows. Everybody's out looking for her. She disappeared from her room this afternoon."

Chip discarded the broth and rubbed his face with his hands trying to make sense of the information.

"Chip, there's something I need to tell you and I need to tell you now before anything else happens."

He suddenly got to his feet.

"I need to find her."

"Chip, no!"

He didn't seem to hear her as he fumbled with the door handle which, unsurprisingly, didn't turn. He kicked the door in frustration.

"This is all my fault!" he shouted, as his foot collided with the metal.

"Sit down!"

His mother's voice was surprisingly fierce.

"You're under arrest, remember? And there's nothing you can do about it right now, so sit down and listen to me!"

He slunk back down on the bed, his anger leaving almost as quickly as it had come.

"Alright, I'm listening."

………………………………………………………………………………………

Catherine stood, her deep brown eyes glassy with tears, in the doorway of her home. It was the beginning of summertime and the air was ripe with the scent of roses growing nearby. It lingered all around her and the gentleman at the doorstep. A coach and horses stood waiting nearby. The horses tossed their manes to fight off the flies and midges that also came with the scent of the flowers.

"My love, I fear you shall be gone too long."

"No, my darling Catherine, it will all be well. A few months, that is all, and I shall be at your side once more."

"How can you be sure?"

"I have too many good things waiting for me here to ever need to spend more time elsewhere."

Catherine smiled, and it filled the gentleman's heart with sorrow. To be called away to London now—it was as if fate scorned him. His eyes drifted to his wife's belly. No swell yet, but there soon would be. A mere two days earlier, a midwife had confirmed what they'd dare not hope. After ten years of trying, a child. His heir—and now he had to go away and leave them both behind.

With a final kiss, the Lord Charles Dudley said goodbye to his beloved wife and unborn child, and headed to his coach, his boots crunching on the gravel as he went. Catherine stayed at the door until he was out of sight, then reluctantly she went back inside, where she was greeted by her oldest and dearest friend, her maid, Evelyn Potts.

"He will be back before you know it, child, and then you can both enjoy this special time together."

Catherine smiled, caressing her belly as she did so, and then went to continue embroidering some cotton for her maternity dresses.

Charles was right. Fate did scorn them. Less than a fortnight later, the child was lost. For days, Catherine neither slept nor ate, but wandered the house like a wraith, not seeing anything but her wasted future. Her beautiful hair became lifeless, her skin paled and stretched over her bones; she seemed to age another ten years overnight.

A month went by, and a message came from court addressed to the Lady from her husband. In it, he regretted that he must stay away longer, at least another six months. He hoped that Catherine was well and that he would be home in time to see the baby born. On receipt of the letter, Catherine tore it into a hundred pieces and watched them flutter to the floor without a sound. Against the advice of her household, she bade them not reply with the news that there was no longer a child for him to come home to. She could not bear him knowing once again her inability to produce the son he craved. When people protested, she went up to her room and locked herself away, declaring that she would see no-one until she could be a successful wife and woman. The household once more drifted along, choosing not to think about their master's return and their mistress' torment.

Then, a miracle, or so it seemed. The midwife burst into the pantry one night.

"She's with child! She's still with child!"

There was much rejoicing but underneath that was an air of uneasiness. Something was not right. The Lady had miscarried but two months previously, yet here she was once again, apparently pregnant. There were rumours and whispers and talk of dismissing the midwife, but days turned into weeks, then into months, and Catherine blossomed. First her dresses were altered, then discarded and new ones made. Catherine laughed and smiled again, marveling at the changes in a body she once thought barren, but Evelyn knew in her gut that the child could not be the same one. With sadness, she felt that the Lady must have had a lover, but quiet words exchanged with the guards and night watchmen seemed to state that this was impossible. They would know of secret visitors, they protested, no man could have come into the house without them knowing. It was a miracle indeed.

True to his word, Lord Dudley's coach rolled up to the house when the baby was due any day. His face was a joy to behold when he saw his wife's figure and he vowed not to leave her side until the baby was born.

But, despite the midwife's insistence that the child was due, Catherine showed no sign of being anywhere near her time. A month went by and she grew bigger, but there was no baby. Another month, she grew bigger still, so much so that she could walk for no longer than a few minutes at a time before needing rest, but there was no baby. Concerned, Charles sent for another midwife, the midwife to the Royal Family no less, supposedly the best in England. Initially, Catherine refused to see her, stating that there was no need and bursting into tears whenever an examination was mentioned, but Charles was starting to doubt his wife—and with good reason, for it had been almost a year since he'd left his wife tearful and newly pregnant on the doorstep.

The new midwife came to the house one crisp spring evening, when the days were just starting to grow longer, and spent an hour with the Lady. She emerged from the bedroom, and said she would speak to no-one but his Lordship.

The next day, Lady Catherine Dudley and her unborn child were banished from the house. She gave birth in an abandoned cottage in the woods a week later, and died soon afterwards.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Evelyn watched as Chip didn't move from his position. She knew he was a bright boy and willed him to put two and two together, so that she would be spared having to say it out loud, but he said nothing, just kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling above the bed.

"Chip," said Evelyn as steadily as she could manage, "the Lady Catherine Dudley was your real mother. She died giving birth to you and I raised you as my own."

No reaction.

"Chip? Please…say something, sweetheart," pleaded Evelyn desperately.

Slowly, Chip sat up. He turned his head and looked up at her.

"What on earth do you want me to say?"

Evelyn couldn't answer because she honestly did not know.

He repeated himself, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"What do you want me to say? That I'm glad my mother was a whore?"

Evelyn gasped, astounded by Chip's harsh words.

"Chip! How can you say that? She was your mother, and she loved you with all her heart."

"Well, it's the truth isn't it?"

"Of course not! She couldn't have…"

"Then, who is my father? Who is he?"

Chip was on his feet now. He fired the questions at her like bullets. Evelyn was beside herself. She knew Chip would never hit her, but she had never seen him so angry. She desperately tried to think of something to say to make the situation better.

"I…I…I don't know. I wish I did, truly I wish I did. I'm so sorry, love."

He turned his back on her.

"Why now?"

"I…what?...I," stammered Evelyn, confused.

"Why are you telling me this now? Now, of all times."

"Because I think it's connected," she blurted out. "There's something about you, Chip, something about your life…"

Chip had heard enough.

"Get out." he said quietly.

"Chip, please love, I…"

"I said, get out! Leave me alone!"

Sobbing, she picked up the empty plates and dirty clothes, and did as she was told. When she was at the relative safety of the door, she looked back.

"Chip, you'll always be my son, always. Nothing will ever change that."

Then, the door slammed and she was gone.

Chip sat on the edge of the bed, feeling like his world was crumbling all around him.


	13. Prisoners

Thanks to the workshop crew and all my reviewers for being so patience, and to Trudi for beta-ing me. This is 'thoughts' chapter, so nothing much happens i'm afraid, but its needed! Enjoy!

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**Chapter Twelve: Prisoners**

Darkness. For hours, darkness and nothing else, then it weakened and parted. Fuzzy outlines of shapes, intense blurriness. Then, light came and separated shadow from substance. Senses came next…the coarseness of rope at her wrists, the choking taste of cloth and some unknown matter in her mouth, the dull throb of her brain and the tightness of skin on her face from tears that had long since dried. Bit by bit, Raisse regained consciousness. Every unfamiliar sound and smell began to register, and before long, she had gathered enough information to realise she was a prisoner, though where and of whom eluded her for the moment.

Her hands were bound behind her back and something else that pressed into her spine. Something cold and solid…iron maybe? She was sitting upright on a wooden floor. A cramp in her bottom suggested she had been there for some time. She shifted her weight, wincing as she did so, and looked around. Faded wood surrounded her on all sides, except for the far wall which had what looked like a small window covered in black cloth near the ceiling. The room was bare, cold and dark. No sound came from outside, and the lack of slivers of light which would have been caused by the gaps between the curtain and the wall told Raisse it must be night time.

_What a fitting end to such a day!_ she thought dryly.

Resigned to her situation for the time being, she leaned back and began to think, for thinking was all she could do. She thought of her bedchamber and the embroidered blankets on her bed, and the way the sunset looked every evening from her window. She thought of her parents, her mother and the fairy-tales she'd read her every night of her childhood, her father in royal blue and the dance he reserved for her at every ball. Her horse, Puck. Her life, and how much she loved it, and how much she took it for granted.

_What happened to me?_

She had not properly thought of the day's events yet, nor of him. She had embraced the fear like an old friend. It was easier. She'd let her heart beat fast and her head pound so she would not have to search inside either one and discover the truth. She'd worn out every sense and motion so that nothing else could function. She'd collapsed on her soft, inviting bed and slept with her eyes open. Now, they were dry and surely deceiving her. After all, what business had the Princess of France with her arms bound in little more than a big wooden box?

She no longer knew what was real and what was not. Those eyes…had they been real? Remembering them brought fresh tears to her eyes. The rocks…they had been real, and so had the water. The terror, and the extreme cold. The awful realisation that she could do nothing but sink. The sensation of drowning. She recalled how the water rushed in and swirled like a torrent around her. The intense pain as her lungs flooded that got worse and worse and worse until it stopped.

Nothing, conscious but not, drifting…Raisse struggled to remember the rest, thought she knew there was something. Suddenly, it struck her. She had been dead. A deep icy coldness began to envelop her from within. Maybe she still was, though the rope burns and the headache begged to differ. Was she in purgatory? Was this her trial, her day of judgment? Strangely, she'd never really imagined the afterlife to smell so strongly of horse excrement, and feel so damp and stale.

But…she had been brought back. Bright. So bright after the sweet darkness. It hurt…and that's what had been wrong. The pain had returned. Even now, it still singed the inside of her lungs and her stomach muscles throbbed beneath her bodice.

Then, she'd seen him…only he was no longer him. Of that, she was almost certain. He'd done something that was unnatural, and wrong. Her body had tingled with magic…at least, she thought it had been magic. She knew magic existed but it was rare to behold. Chip…he shouldn't have it…he should not know…and it was tainted. Impure. She could still taste it at the back of her throat. Intoxicating and vile.

And he'd used it on her. He'd gone against the divine laws of nature and…brought her back. She was the thing that was not real. She was not meant to exist still. Surely he had condemned her to wander like a shadow through a life that was no longer hers, forever indebted to a light that might not take her back.

Suddenly, she felt numb. She was empty. She was nothing. She sat, staring straight ahead and contemplated her fate.

_What is to become of me?_

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Chip sat on his bed. His anger had vanished with the sound of footsteps outside, growing fainter and fainter until an unwelcome silence filled the air. Just him, alone, to make sense of it all.

_Who am I?_

He had known, deep in his heart he had known all along, but it didn't make him feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse. He'd ignored the nagging doubts all his life because he had been afraid. Now the doubts were made flesh. They were real…but who was he?

Charles. Chip. His name hadn't changed, but it had lost its meaning. He wasn't a D'Arbigne, he wasn't a Potts, he wasn't even a Dudley. He had no last name, and without a last name, what was the point of a first? And he had no mother. His birth had been her death. His very existence had destroyed her. She must have hated him.

Why had he been born? What was his purpose?

He had nothing. No mother, no father, no identity. Just a maid who'd taken him in because she had no other choice, and a family he didn't belong in. Oh, and a horse and the clothes on his back…which he'd probably lose too once he was found guilty of whatever Raisse had accused him of.

His solemn demeanour was suddenly shaken by a bout of anger. How dare she? He'd saved her life, risking his own and putting himself through…whatever he'd put himself through, and she had repaid him by accusing him of such a foul crime.

_Spoilt little brat!_ he thought bitterly. _Crafty demon in angel's guise. _He thought of her, warm and comfortable no doubt in her rich soulless bedchamber, and wondered if she was smiling. Then he remembered the words from mere minutes before. She was missing.

_Where on earth could she possibly have gone, and why?_ It was, of course, perfectly in character for her to cause a scene and become centre of attention, as usual. It made no sense for her to make herself disappear, though. He wished he could disappear. Taken against her will, then. But, by whom? He smirked. No doubt he would be a suspect if he was not behind solid iron bars.

He thought hard.

With Raisse gone, could they even try him with the alleged offence, falsehood though it was? Could her disappearance seem proof that something else was amiss, and with whom? What would they do with him until she was found? Would he just be left alone to rot in unanswered questions and revelations?

He would go. When they released him, he would go…and far. Far away so nobody else could get hurt…and he would forget he was ever Chip. He would start again and make himself anew. It wouldn't be that hard…would it? Surely it would solve everything. Of course, he'd have to get out first…

He sat and stared at the wall, focusing on the grooves and indentations in each stone. He saw the mortar between each one and its neighbour, and how it had been smoothed by an unknown finger from an unknown man centuries before. He imagined he could see through the wall and visualised the sky on the other side…dark, starry perhaps, with a round, shadowy moon.

He'd used to love star-gazing, lying in a field and watching as day turned to night, and the moon appeared from underneath a translucent veil. Feeling the grass tickle his skin in the darkness…the smell of evening…

He'd taken Raisse once, when she'd been ten or so. Never again. She'd made him point out all the twinkling lights and the shapes they'd seemed to make, then she'd demanded that he tell her she'd called 'star stories' until the clouds rolled in and obscured their vision. Her incessant chatter had ruined the mood for him, and he'd ushered the princess back to the castle prematurely.

How he longed to see them now. The tiny window in the cell showed him nothing but blank indigo.

Perhaps he'd go to the coast and see it all reflected in the ocean. Or climb a mountain until the stars seemed within reach. He suddenly realised he'd lived his whole life within the castle and its grounds being a son, a servant, a playmate…but never just a man. He'd taken the blame when things went wrong, he'd done anything asked of him, he'd become a teacup for ten years because of somebody else's mistake, he'd saved the life of a princess and then been accused of desecrating it. He'd never seen the ocean, visited a far-off land…fallen in love.

For the first time in hours, Chip smiled. A life without rules, without chores, without boundaries….

_What will become of me?_


	14. Two Unforgettable Entrances

I know its a long time coming but hopefully it'll be worth it. Am still figuring out exactly whatI want to happen. Its so frustrating, I've got the end all figured out, but I have to write the middle first :p Thanks to all my reviewers for staying with me, I hope the story continues to please.

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The clock's tick was agonising. Every minute, every second the hand moved echoed like a thunderbolt in Vincent's head. Another second of waiting, another second of not knowing, another second of fearing the worst. He'd sent the guards out when the sun was still bright and the sky was a cheerful blue; now, night had fallen and Vincent's mood darkened along with the heavens. Anxiety made him restless. He sat for a moment in a chair by the roaring fire, his body tense with apprehension. He crossed his legs, he uncrossed them and crossed them the other way; he leant forwards, sitting bolt upright and tapping his knees with his hands, then he leant back and stared at the marbled ceiling with its gilded cherubs. A few more seconds, and then he sprang up again and began to pace from one end of the room to the other, his heavy boots clumping along the wooden floor, trying to keep his mind from coming up with increasingly nasty scenarios involving his daughter's disappearance. 

His nerves were in tatters. They had not yet recovered from Raisse's frantic flight into the castle and Chip's interrogation and subsequent arrest, when a weary Belle had burst into his study with the news that Raisse had vanished. At first, concern had been fairly minimal, as the princess was prone to disappearing for short periods of time when she was upset. She was usually found sitting alone in the library or wandering the gardens. One time she'd even been discovered by a serving maid curled up in the pantry asleep with a half-eaten apple in her hand.

As usual, a group of servants that Cogsworth could begrudgingly spare for a while were sent to every area of the castle in search of her. When, despite a thorough scrutiny of every room and corridor, Raisse had not been found an hour later, Vincent and Belle had begun to panic. The guards had been despatched to search the grounds including the fields and waterfall surrounding the castle. When that had been fruitless, they'd been sent out into the village and Vincent had begun his erratic vigil in the dining room, watched by a sea of anguished faces.

Belle sat motionless on the other side of the room, her beautiful face pale and rigid, watching her husband withtearful eyes. Mrs D'Arbigne (nee Potts) had made everyone tea, but it had hardly been touched—her usual remedy for most stresses and ailments being apparently ineffective on this occasion. She stood by the door with Maurice supporting her, as she was still fragile from her earlier unsuccessful conversation with her son. She clasped her husband's hand tightly and rested her head on his shoulder, as he in turn watched his daughter crumble before his eyes.

"What is taking so long?" shouted Vincent suddenly to nobody in particular. "How long does it take to search a little village, for goodness sake?"

No-one answered him, partly because they were not sure who he was addressing but mostly because they sensed that no words could possibly provide the King with a satisfactory response. Met with nothing but silence, Vincent stood with his hands on the mantelpiece, staring at the clock with a murderous gaze. On the other side of the room, Cogsworth gulped, and for about the hundredth time in the last eighteen or so years, mentally thanked God that he was himself no longer a timepiece.

The ticking continued for another half an hour, when it then began to start driving everybody else in the room crazy. The air in the dining-room grew stale with the baited breath of everyone within. Some servants including the chef, who was very aware that he had the evening's meal probably now burning on the stove in the kitchen, had just excused themselves and returned to their duties when there was a loud knock on the castle door.Every heart in the room stopped at once. The shock was followed by a general feeling ofbewilderment, as the guards would enter unannounced through the barracks of the castle if it were them.

If not them, then who? Who would visit the castle at this most inconvenient time?

Cogsworth, who had been absorbed in thinking once more of his impending retirement (the one he'd promised himself years ago once he'd become human again that had never materialised), stared stupidly ahead at the sound of the knock, before remembering it was he who was supposed to answer the door. Blushing slightly, he swept out of the room, followed by Lumiere who was himself curious to see the identity of the unexpected guest. The distraction was welcomed by both men as they moved to the door infrantic silence, thinking that the day could not possibly hold anymore unpleasant surprises.

As the neared the door, Cogsworth prepared himself by puffing out his chest and smoothing his moustache, an action that at any other time Lumiere would not have failed to find amusing. He stood a few feet back as Cogsworth turned the big brass handle and pulled the door towards him.

He started to speak, but was stopped by the sight that greeted him at the door.

……………………………………………………………………………………

When Raisse opened her eyes, she immediately shut them again. Sunlight hit her directly in the face and made her wince. She waited until the bright colours had finished dancing beneath her eyelids before gingerly opening them once more. The room had not changed, except for a single strip of daylight which sliced through the darkness like a fine cut and hurt her eyes. She moved her head so it no longer affected her and took a deep breath. She was still trapped, and it had been hours now. Frustrated, she began to cry.

Suddenly, her sobbing ceased. She had heard something. Footsteps. Slow, heavy footsteps which trod on something soft. Grass, perhaps. They grew louder and stopped outside what she now realised was a door, having previously seen nothing but wall at its location. She could hear something else. It sounded like humming, Melodic, jovial humming, followed by the noise of a key turning in a lock.

She braced herself. Finally, she would look upon the face of her abductor, no doubt a cruel, bloodthirsty torturer come to increase her torment until he got what he wanted. The door opened away from her so she was thankfully spared more light hitting her in the face, and a figure emerged from the opening. Raisse's eyes grew wide, and then slanted again in puzzlement when she saw the figure clearly. She suppressed the sudden choke of hysterical laughter than had lodged itself in her throat. It was a funny little man! Short and squat, with goofy features and messy dark hair—hardly what she'd expected. He did not look at her at first, instead focusing on moving the rag across the window to provide more light. Raisse groaned, and then squinted at the man to try and determine whether she was seeing correctly. He turned and caught her eye, then dropped his face and bowed his head, as though in shame. He said nothing for a few seconds then stammered some words without looking up.

"G…Good morning, princess."

Raisse no longer knew how to react. This man looked and acted like he would not be capable of trapping an insect, let alone snatch a princess away from heavy guard. However, she had been taught not to be deceived by appearances. Whatever the circumstances, she was a prisoner. He removed the gag from her mouth with pale, chubby fingers.

"Who are you?"

He did not answer her, seeming far more interested in the scuffed and scratched tops of his shoes. She tried again.

"What do you want with me?"

He spoke, his voice quiet as though he was used to people talking over him.

"I'm to keep you here for the master."

_Ah,_ thought Raisse. _He is working for somebody else. That makes more sense._ She was not sure if she wanted to know the answer to her next question.

"What does your master want of me?"

To her utter disbelief, he shrugged and stayed silent.

"If he wants money, he'll get it, I swear. Please let me go."

He shook his head and shuffled back outside. He returned with a plate of bread and a goblet of water, and placed them in front of her. He cleared his throat and pointed.

"You must eat and drink. He says so."

Raisse almost laughed at his foolishness, but then thought better of it.

"I cannot eat while my hands are tied."

He stopped, and looked at her, obviously weighing up solutions in his head. His features were ruddy and tired, but he had a strange child-like quality about him, like a boy who had aged too quickly. She judged him to be around her father's age, although the King looked considerably younger than his thirty-eight years.

After much deliberation, the man shut and locked the door, dropping the key into his pocket, and then approached her slowly, his eyes watching for any unexpected movement. He took a small knife from his belt and cut the ropes around her wrists. She moaned in relief and examined the harsh red marks under each of her hands. They were not too bad. She was not bleeding, just sore. The man stepped back and now she could see the knife, shiny and sharp in his hand. Best not try anything rash…

She reached for the goblet, relishing as the cool liquid soothed her dry throat, then tore the bread hungrily. She felt sure it was the sweetest food she had ever tasted.

When she was done, she started to get up in order to stretch her legs, but then saw the man's trembling hand tense around the knife's handle. His eyes flicked between her and the padlock on the door.

"I must stand for my legs hurt, I beg of you. I will not try to escape, I promise."

To her surprise, he seemed to accept her words readily and took a few steps back. She straightened her legs very slowly, gritting her teeth at the cramp that shot through her joints and then stretched her arms above her head with a murmur of delight. On standing, she was unsurprised to see that her captor was several inches shorter than she, and also a good few inches wider. Once again, he gripped his knife tighter.

"My name is Raisse. What's yours?"

"Lefou."

"Thank-you, Lefou."

He shrugged his shoulders, blushed and murmured something about being welcome. Raisse almost smiled. The little man was quite endearing. She could befriend him. Maybe so much that he could help her escape in time. He certainly seemed the sort of person that was easily manipulated.

"Who do you work for, Lefou?" she said, careful to keep her tone light and casual. He opened his mouth but was then silenced by something she could not see. Wordlessly, he moved to the window and covered it again, so that the room fell dark.

"He works for me."

The voice filled the room, but it was not loud. It seemed to make the room tremble yet it was not booming. Even more disturbingly, it seemed to come from inside her own head. She felt goosebumps begin to form on her bare arms and her body temperature drop so her skin seemed full of ice water. Tears fell and froze onto her cheeks. Her lips cracked as she spoke.

"Who's there? Who are you?"

She looked to Lefou for help, but he stood silently in a corner of the room, watching what seemed to be just a patch of darkness. As she stared though, it started to take on some sort of form and then two eyes opened in front of her.

Those eyes.

Raisse squeaked in terror and dropped to her knees, suddenly recalling a conversation she had long since forgotten.

"_Mama! Mama!" cried the little girl as she pounded her fists on her parent' chamber door. "Papa!"_

_The door opened and a tired face peered out._

"_Raisse? What are you doing out of bed? Where's Essie?"_

"_She's asleep, Papa", wailed the child. "There are monsters in my room. They're everywhere. Save me, Papa!"_

_She flung herself forward and grabbed her father's waist, burying her face in his nightclothes. Her father sighed, and took her hand. Together, they went back to her bedchambers where they found Essie on the verge of panic, having woken up to find the princess missing._

"_Leave us, Essie."_

_The servant obeyed and exited the room. Raisse watched as her father once again went through the routine of showing her the inside of every cupboard and the underside of every table and the lack of monsters hiding there. Raisse was not convinced. The monsters she'd seen made their own shadows, not inhabited the shadows of others. They came at her from every angle, then disappeared, but never fully left._

Time had passed, and she'd forgotten the silly fears of childhood. However, when she saw the face of the creature who held her hostage, she was six years old again, a child quivering beneath the blankets. She wanted her father more than anything.

"Papa," she whispered softly to herself, as the very real monster cackled, once again delighted at its ability to scare.

"You do not like my appearance. Heed what I say and I will not have to show myself too often. No doubt you would prefer that."

He flickered, momentarily turning the darkness into several shades of grey.

"I have no care for you. You are bait, no more. If you ceased to exist, it would not trouble me. However, my accomplice Lefou here"…the eyes flicked to him…"cares very much about your fate. Your life is in his hands from now on. I would advise you not to underestimate either of us, child."

Raisse felt herself nodding against her will.

"Therefore, from this moment onwards, you will do as he tells you and you will not speak unless spoken to. In return, you will not be harmed. Is that understood?"

She nodded again.

"Lefou?"

"Yes, master?"

"Tie her back up and leave her for a while alone. Do not give her more food until she has proved her obedience to you."

"Yes, master."

The eyes extinguished and Raisse did not protest as she was restrained once more. Lefou shut the door hard (as it fit ill in the frame) but she did not hear it. She had one thought, and one thought only.

"Jesu, help me."

Little did she know, her rescue had already begun.


	15. The First Step

Hi everyone! I am so sorry this has taken so long, I'm not making any excuses! Having a little bit of a crisis though in what exactly I want to happen next, so please bear with me. My thanks to all my reviewers and to the BatB workshop crew for all their support. Alsofeel I need to mention the Online Etymology dictionary; a great source for anyone who is writing in a certain period and wants to check whether they had certain words back then.If anyone wants to know, the word 'salt-lick' was first recorded in 1751 :)For my inspiration of Catherine's portrait, please see my profile cos I obviously can't type the link here, and its a loooooong link. Ok here we are, I hope you like it.

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**Chapter Fourteen: The First Step**

The people congregated in the dining room heard Cogsworth address somebody quite clearly, for the two rooms were adjacent to eachother. In his haste, Cogsworth had also left the large wooden doors ajar. They heard him being cut off abruptly, which was certainly unusual. When the head of the household was in the middle of his duties, he never ceased to drone until every word was carefully pronounced and enunciated. When he finished and looked down his nose at you…that was when you were permitted to speak.

On this occasion, however, they heard him get as far as 'Good day. How may I…." before complete silence echoed throughout the rooms. Vincent's nerves were pulled just a little tighter. If this was news of Raisse, then he was suddenly not sure whether he wished to receive it. All eyes turned towards the door, anxiously awaiting the unexpected guest who could cut Cogsworth off mid-sentence.

Before long, Cogsworth wandered into the room in a daze. His usually red blusterous face had turned a sickly shade of white and his footsteps shook, a victim of his trembling knees. Nonetheless, he was determined to maintain as much of an air of professionalism as he could. His eyes met the King's, his expression one of shock and disbelief. He cleared his throat.

"Your highnesses, may I present the Enchantress."

At once, the whole room was filled with an emerald-coloured light, eliminating all other colours present. Though it shone directly in at least four pairs of eyes, it did not cause them to squint, for it was bright but gentle. Its vivacity was more present at the doorway where the green was so intense that it engulfed Cogsworth temporarily, completely obscuring the servant from view. Then, just as suddenly, it dissipated, leaving just a faint green glow around the figure at the door.

The Enchantress was beautiful, for she radiated goodness and peace. Her long and softly-curled blonde hair shone like morning sunlight. Her eyes were the colour of a meadow in the height of summer. Her skin was pale and smooth, for she was not susceptible to the ravages of age. Her mind held the wisdom of centuries, but her face was that of a young maid. She floated into the room with her shining emerald gown rippling around her like an ocean.

Across the room, Vincent dropped to his knees. Suddenly, he was a boy again, naïve and thoughtless, bowing before an enchantress and feeling fear and awe in equal measure. His skin prickled as though his hairs were growing thicker, longer and spreading. His trembling limbs started to ache as though they were shifting and reforming. All the emotions he'd felt that day twenty-seven years previously hit him at once, and he felt sure he was on the verge of fainting with their intensity.

All around the terrified King, people fell to the floor, also reliving that fateful day. The whole room quivered with fear and adoration, humility and despair. Only the Queen and her father were uncertain, though they also dropped to their knees, sensing that respect needed to be paid to this awesome creature.

Vincent dared not look up, in case he saw those eyes burn with anger as they had done before. Then there would be pain, shame, disgust…

"Vincent."

Her voice was delicate, soothing and sweet, although one could sense the immense power that lurked beneath its surface. The King looked up carefully, and when he saw no threat in her eyes, he relaxed a little and found his voice. He struggled to decide how to address an Enchantress.

"I…er…my lady…great sorceress…"

He ran his hand through his hair nervously, a habit that always manifested itself in times of extreme anxiety. The Enchantress smiled warmly.

"There is no need to be frightened. I am not here to punish you. I am proud of the noble, loving man you have become. A true King in every sense of the word. Please stand."

He did as she requested and thanked her, feeling a small sense of pride that soothed his battered heart just a little.

"I am here to help you."

"My lady?"

"Your daughter is in great danger."

Vincent was stunned into silence once more by the sudden flow of questions that had formed in his mind and suffocated his senses. He reached out with his right hand and found the back of a chair, which he gripped tightly for necessary support. Another chair scraped backward on the wooden floor, and Belle rose from her seat and rushed to her husband's side. Evelyn clung to Maurice, who was watching the unbelievable scene unfold in front of his eyes. The rest of the people in the room felt despair grip them like an iron voice at her words. She continued.

"Your guards can do nothing. They would never be able to find her. She has been taken."

"By whom? Where is she?" demanded Vincent. The Enchantress shook her head.

"Alas, I do not know. Powerful magic is at work. It conceals the child from us."

"Us?"

"The few of us left that are responsible for keeping order. Not long ago, we became aware of an imbalance. We sought to discover its origin and found an amateur summoning had been performed, unleashing a dark force hell-bent on a purpose that we are yet to understand. I fear this force has your daughter."

"How do you know this?"

"We have seekers who move in dark circles from whom we await information. Once the summoning was discovered, we sought to discover the meaning behind the force's release. Alas, on this occasion we were too late to stop the abduction of your daughter."

Belle spoke up, sensing her husband's inner battle to stay in control of his anger at what he would no doubt see as a lack of action on the Enchantress' part.

"What must we do to save her?"

"There is nothing you can do. Your daughter is being held by a source of incredible power in a destination unreachable by normal methods."

"Can you save her?"

The Enchantress shook her head sadly.

"We do not have the ability to challenge such an unconventional power. The pure righteous magic we possess is limited when fighting evil of this nature."

Vincent could stand it no longer.

"Then why are you here? If you cannot help us, why torment us with this useless information?"

"Hush, my love," whispered Belle in his ear. "Anger will not give us Raisse back." To the Enchantress, she said "Please continue."

"There is but one who can save her. His coming was foretold many centuries ago but we have only just been made aware of his existence. He alone has the means and motive to rescue your daughter."

"Who is he?"

……………………………………………………………………………………...

A key turned in the lock and the door creaked open. Slowly, Chip raised his head from its position in his hands, ready to face whichever person had come to ruin his life next. _After all,_ he thought bitterly, _bad news always comes in threes. _He was disappointed when it was only a couple of guards. They looked at him with their usual stony expressions. One held a length of rope in his hands, obviously intending it for restraining purposes.

_They think I'm an animal._

Chip stood slowly in order to show the guards he was not going to harm them.

"I will come willingly. There is no need for the rope," he said quietly. The guards exchanged looks and then tied his hands anyway.

_Nobody trusts a criminal._

He was then marched down the steps and along the corridor.

_Where are they taking me? Am I to be released…or sentenced?_

……………………………………………………………………………………

As they entered the dining room, there was total silence. Every pair of eyes was staring at him. He suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. He turned and noticed the Enchantress. He knew who she was, though he had never seen her before. She smelt of the enchantment that had befallen the castle all those years ago. Was it his imagination or did his skin suddenly feel stiff and tight like porcelain? The hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms stood up.

_Is this to be my fate? My punishment? I am to be transformed again. Surely not a tea cup like before…_

Suddenly, he could not shake the fear that he would be turned into a salt lick, or maybe even a saddle. Doomed to be sat on for all-time.

To his surprise, he realised that the Enchantress was looking at him not with an expression of malice, but one of kindness and pity. Her beauty took Chip's breath away. He stood still in confusion while she instructed the guards to release him, and then approached him, glowing like a sea green angel. He suddenly remembered his manners and bowed his head, blushing slightly as he did so. When he lifted his head again, her eyes stared into his. He watched transfixed as she raised her slim, pale arm and placed her hand on the side of his head.

"So cold," she whispered only to him. "Why so cold?"

A wave of sadness suddenly swept over him. He lowered his eyes, no longer able to cope with seeing the goodness in her face. Pain wrenched his heart, along with a heavy sense of shame that tightened his chest.

The Enchantress stepped back and spoke to the King and Queen.

"He is not guilty of the crime you accuse him of. However, he is guilty of serious recklessness and misuse of magic. Ordinarily, you would be severely reprimanded, Chip."

He swallowed, bracing himself for what was about to come to pass. One act of foolishness, a lifetime to come to terms with what he had done.

_Please God, let it be quick and merciful._

The Enchantress continued.

"Ordinarily, the punishment for breaking the intended laws of nature and fate is banishment and cessation of power, but you did not know, did you?"

His eyes found hers once more.

"You truly have no idea of your potential…of the power you possess inside you. You're just a child," she whispered. "You have so much to learn, and what you did was driven by grief and desperation. You could not possibly have known the implications or consequences of an act so beyond your own knowledge and control."

Chip's voice was dry and husky, and wrought with fear.

"No, my lady. I didn't mean to…forgive me…I couldn't bear it…"

She silenced him like a mother quieting an infant.

"The princess is in danger, Chip. You must save her."

"M…me?" he stammered. "How?"

As the Enchantress explained his quest, Chip found himself in a bubble where time stood still and place no longer mattered. He absorbed information but did not hear it. He listened but could not react, for he was frozen in that moment. It was one he would often find himself returning to over and over again. The moment when nothing and everything made sense all at once, the moment his path through life was chosen. The moment he realised how important he was.

The King and Queen listened, hardly drawing a breath. To say that Vincent was entirely happy with the Enchantress' words would be untrue. In fact, he was positively fuming at the idea that his daughter's safety was to be entrusted with a man he'd imprisoned for attacking her that very day, despite the Enchantress' insistence of his innocence. One look at the hope that brightened his wife's eyes though, and he knew that he must learn to trust Chip once more, as she learned to love a beast. He looked at the boy with pity, for he did not envy the task he was about to undertake. He knew full well that a quest of any kind, be it physical, mental or spiritual, was strewn with hardships that threatened to destroy one's hope at every turn. One needed immense strength and determination just to survive. Looking at Chip now, he could not help but notice an air of fragility and instability about him. He seemed tired and gaunt, as if the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders, and he was yet to set one foot out of the door.

Yet, the King believed in him, because he had to, lest his own unrealised hope leave him an empty shell also.

Evelyn D'Arbigne watched the events unfold with a single tear running down he left cheek. Her son, in every way but blood, was being taken away from her and set on a course that was dangerous and uncertain. She'd wanted so much for him…promotion, love, marriage, children. Never had it occurred to her that he would have to take a road of peril and loneliness before he could have any of those things, if he could now have them at all. He was so young still, with so much life ahead of him. Now he was to risk it all to save somebody else's. Although an uneasy pride enveloped all of Evelyn's feelings on that crisp summer's evening, she could not help but feel that she had lost her son forever. It took all her resolve and willpower to stop many more tears following the single one down her face.

………………………………………………………………………………………

An hour later, Chip was packing a saddle bag with the bare minimum of provisions for the start of his journey. Bread, cheese and wine from the kitchen, a small purse of money that he had saved from his wages as a member of the royal household, a few items of clothing and a hunting knife he's received as a gift once and never had to use. His whole life wrapped in cloth. He could not help but feel that he did not have much to show for his twenty-two years. As he tied the bag up, his eyes wandered to the dressing table and rested on the mirror, carelessly replaced by the guards on his arrest. On a whim, he took it and packed it, assuring himself that it would be more of a benefit than a burden. He then went to his wardrobe and picked out a cloak made of soft dark grey wool. True, it was summer and would be for another few months, but he wanted to prepare for many summers with harsh winters in between them. He had no foolhardy illusions about his quest being over before the first drops of snow fell that year.

A tentative knock on the door made him start. He'd spoken to no-one but the Enchantress that evening, having taken his last meal from the castle kitchen in solitude, and then gone straight to his small room in the servant's quarters passing nobody on the way. He wondered just how much human contact he was to have from now on.

"Come in," he murmured in the general direction of the doorway. The door creaked open and the nervous face of Evelyn peered in. Chip saw who it was out of the corner of his eyes and pretended to be busy inspecting the lining of his cloak. He ran the material through his fingers as if looking for holes. Evelyn walked in, closing the door behind her gently, as if she was afraid to make noise. In her hands, she held a small velvet-lined box that she'd kept hidden in a chest of her most precious possessions for twenty-two years.

She watched Chip pretend he hadn't seen her and tried to think of the best words she could possibly say to him. However, in her desperation to end the unbearable silence between them, she blurted out the first thing that came to her.

"How are you, Chip?"

His reply was just as inane.

"I've been better, thank you."

"Do you hate me?" she asked, unable to stop herself from needing to know the answer to the question that had plagued her heart ever since their last meeting. Chip's stubbornness faltered upon hearing the tear-soaked words of the woman who'd been his mother all his life. He swallowed hard and looked up.

"Of course not."

"But…I lied to you, I deceived you, I kept the truth away from you."

"I know," Chip forced himself to continue even though he was not sure he believed in the words he was saying. He knew he might never see her again. Best leave her thinking that everything was alright between them. "I know you were only doing what you thought was best for me."

Evelyn looked down at the object in her hands and sighed.

"I brought you this. I thought you might want to have it. It was your mother's."

She held it out to him, and he hesitated for a moment before he took it. The velvet material felt soft in his hardened fingers. He gently moved the clasp aside and opened it. Inside was a golden locket, plain except for the initials C. D etched in italicised script. With slightly trembling fingers, he removed the locket from the box and prised the two edges apart with his fingernails. The portrait of a young woman stared out at him. She was beautiful with long curly hair the colour of his own. She wore a delicate white hat with ribbons and a matching dress with a pointed collar in the style of earlier in the century. There was no doubt as to who it was, the resemblance was uncanny. Nonetheless, Chip found himself asking "Is this her?"

Evelyn nodded, emotion shining in her eyes.

"Wasn't she beautiful? I was her faithful servant, but I loved her like my own daughter. And I love you as my son. You always will be in my heart, Chip. I would not want you to go away not knowing how much I care about you."

Chip gently shut the locket and put it back in its box. Then, he tucked it away carefully between the clothes in his bag.

"Thank-you," he said, and he meant it with every strand of his soul. Wordlessly, he walked across to where Evelyn stood and took her in his arms, swallowing the lump in his throat as he held her.


	16. A Good Start

Yes I know, not much to show for a fortnight of nothing, but please bear with me, its coming slowly but surely and the ideas are there! Hope you like it everyone! My thanks to all my reviewers and my fantastic beta, Trudi.

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**Chapter Fifteen: A Good Start**

Chip set off the next morning, having not slept a minute the previous night. He'd retired before the moon was high in the sky, feeling drained and empty of every sense and emotion, and not wishing to encounter any other person after the reunion of sorts he'd endured with his mother. Practicality and the intention of waking up and beginning his journey once the first glimmer of sun appeared on the horizon also aided his decision to go to bed early, and it was in apprehensive spirits that Chip slid under the blankets and blew the candle flame out with one weary breath.

He knew from experience, however, that the presence of fatigue did not necessarily lead to slumber, and prepared himself for the usual few hours of sleep snatched here and there throughout the night. After lying completely still for two and a half hours staring at the patterns on the ceiling, he realised with dismay that sleep would be impossible. There were too many thoughts in his mind to permit him to banish them. Whether he closed his eyes or opened them, they were there, and they stayed there, swirling round and round and jostling for position until the clock chimed five in the hallway.

And so it was with half-closed eyes and an aching head that Chip saddled up Ambrosius and rode through the castle gates the next morning. He let the tiredness numb him for a while, pointing the horse straight towards the village because it seemed as good a place to start as any. He hardly felt the irregular pattern of the dirt track turn into the smooth, even cobblestones of civilisation, and neither apparently did Ambrosius, for he plodded on slowly, barely reacting except to occasionally swish his tail at the flies that hovered in the air above it.

The houses and shops all became one big blur under Chip's gaze as he focused straight ahead at all times, choosing to watch the path of the unknown open before him rather than the familiar sights of the village. He had almost left the world he knew behind when he heard himself softly tell Ambrosius to halt. It took him a moment to realise why. His head was filled with the wonderful smell that had lazily drifted into his nostrils as he's passed the tavern windows. He suddenly recalled that he had skipped breakfast that morning in an attempt to get moving. The realisation triggered a gurgling in his stomach so loud that he half-expected Ambrosius to turn his head and look at him quizzically.

_Food…_

With a weary smile, Chip dismounted and led the horse around to the stables at the back of the inn, where a begrudging stable-boy, also seemingly the victim of a sleepless night, promised to find fresh water for him in return for a gold coin.

The room was a-buzz with the chatter of travellers, despite the earliness of the hour, as Chip went inside. From what he could see, the majority were merchants, moving from town to town buying and selling wares from the backs of brightly-painted wagons. They were mostly talking amongst themselves in groups of varying sizes, but a few sat at tables alone. Solitary diners like himself, thought he doubted that the journeys that had caused them to stop in the tavern that morning were anything like his. He was stared at as he walked towards the bar, thought no more than any other stranger. Chip rarely frequented taverns, having had all his dietetic needs met at the castle for years, and could not remember ever having been in this particular one, though it was the nearest to his home.

_Home…_

"Good day!" bellowed the overly-cheery landlord as he saw a new customer approach his counter. He peered at Chip with narrow, dark eyes. "I don't recall your face in here before. Just passing through, are you?"

Chip nodded, and then yawned, much to his embarrassment. The barman shook his head and tutted through thin lips.

"Rough night, eh? Aye, t'is always the way with young men such as yourself. Tell you what, why don't I get you a bowl of the wife's Potage Parmentier? Perk you right up."

"Thank-you," said Chip, and also ordered some honey-mead. He was sorely tempted to ask for something stronger but knew he'd be snoring well before he finished the glass if he did.

_A shame _he thought_. I could really use some good alcohol right now._

He slumped into a seat and desperately fought the urge to drop his head on the table and leave it there. Instead, he occupied himself by slowly looking around the tavern, absorbing every line and colour of the building and its patrons.

In the corner nearest the door, and below an open window, sat a group of travel-worn men, five in total, four sitting listening as the fifth spoke loudly and animatedly about fishing on the west coast. The tables all around them were empty for some reason, although there was no shortage of customers requiring seats. The nearest patron to them sat nearest the bar—a nervous-looking gentleman not much older than he. He appeared to be waiting for somebody, as he kept glancing first over one shoulder, then the next, frantically gulping down the contents of his tankard between looks. At the bar, the landlord was deep in conversation with two older men, thought they were too far away for him to hear the topic of conversation.

Chip rubbed his eyes free of the latest urge to sleep and continued looking, finding some small relief in the everyday lives of the people in the tavern. Three men playing cards, a couple asking when their carriage was to be ready, another solitary man devouring a bowl of some sort of stew, a young woman standing by the other end of the bar, watching him as she polished tankards…He raised his eyebrows in surprise and she blushed and turned her face away, her long auburn hair obscuring her expression. Then, as he continued to watch her out of curiosity, she twisted a lock of her hair between her fingers before sweeping it behind her ear to expose her delicate creamy-white neck and throat. A slight turn of the head and she opened her eyes underneath long eyelashes, meeting his own coyly, a crimson hue sweeping over her cheeks, A shy smile played on her lips, which he found himself returning with his own. Then, the voice of the landlord interrupted the moment.

"Fauve! Service, please!"

The look of merriment in her eyes died suddenly and she swiftly moved behind the bar and through an open door. Chip watched her as she walked away, admiring the soft curves of her body evident beneath her apron and plain dress. It had been a while since he'd had female attention of that kind and it felt nice. It felt…normal. His face fell as he realised that his life would be far from normal from now on. He guessed it never really had been in the first place.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his food.

"Potage, monsieur?"

He looked up to see who the silken voice belonged to and followed the slender pale arm holding the dish up to the face and startling green eyes of the barmaid.

"Thank-you, 'damoiselle."

She carefully placed the potage in front of him, leaning across him to do so which mingled the herby smell of the food with her own natural scent in his nostrils.

"It looks delicious," he said, relishing how the emptiness in his stomach was filled with a glance.

"Madame Leroux is the best cook in the town, monsieur. Her dishes are almost as famous as Gaston."

Chip froze. The name sounded familiar.

"Gaston?"

She stared at him, her nose crinkled in puzzlement.

"You have not heard of Gaston?"

"I have heard of the name, 'damoiselle, but I can't place it. I…I don't come to town much."

The lady looked over both her shoulders, then suddenly slid into the seat next to him, causing him to swallow his mouthful too quickly and burn his tongue. She moved her face so close to his that he could see the excitement dancing in her eyes. She pointed to a corner of the tavern he hadn't noticed before, In it stood a single chair covered in animal pelts of various breeds beneath a wall crammed full of mounted heads.

"That chair was his chair. They say it is haunted by the spirits of the creatures he killed."

"He was a hunter?" said Chip, who had also noticed the portrait of a man above the fireplace. A man he was sure he'd seen before…

"He was the greatest hunter in the world, and he spent most of his time here…in this very tavern!"

"What happened to him?" he asked, suddenly pretty certain he already knew the answer.

"He fought the biggest beast of all, up at the castle, but it claimed his life as he killed it. He was so brave though; sacrificing himself to save the kingdom."

She sighed.

"He was so heroic."

Chip wasn't listening anymore. Instead, he was recalling an event he thought he'd forgotten from seventeen years ago.

_Blue eyes in a porcelain face stared through the latticed window frame, peering through the trickles of rain to what lay beyond. The intense feeling of pride he'd felt moments ago as he'd rescued Belle and her father was disappearing as quickly as the water into the gutter below. Fear and sadness replaced it in his heart as he watched the scene unfold in front of him._

_The bad man who'd locked up Belle had hurt his master. His mother, Lumiere and Cogsworth had rushed to the balcony, leaving him with a slightly bedraggled-looking Babette. He could see her fretting at the gaping hole where several feathers had been cruelly ripped out of her. He begged her to let him go with the others. He wanted to help, though he didn't know how, but she shook her head firmly._

"_Yourmaman said no, Chip."_

_Seeing the child's sadness, she swept over to him._

"_Everything will be alright. That…brute, "she hissed, "cannot hurt anyone anymore."_

_The maid sniffed and turned away before Chip could ask why. Through the window, the Beast lay on the ground; his once ferocious head slumped to one side. Belle was kneeling by him, gently stroking his fur with a shaking hand._

_Chip was a bright child. He knew the Beast was dying, and with him would die Chip's hopes of ever being a real boy again. He was too young to hate, but every bad thing he could feel filled him with pain as the Beast's head flopped to the floor one last time. Belle collapsed on top of his chest, weeping into his fur._

_Then…lights! Fireworks! Smoke! The teacup's eyes widened as he saw the Beast float off of the ground. It was magic, magic of the most wonderful kind. _

"_Wow!" thought Chip. Before Babette could stop him, he'd hopped on top of Sultan and ridden him through the doorway._

_Moments later, he was a human boy once more riding on a big scruffy dog, screaming his Mama's name in wonderment. She'd picked him up and held him tight, and everything had been great again._

_Well, almost everything…_

_Chip had never forgotten the bad man with his raven-black hair and raging eyes. He'd even had nightmares about him for a while, always with him climbing up the balcony—a monster with rotting flesh…_

"Monsieur?"

Green eyes stared at him in alarm. He looked down to see his fork in his hand dangling downwards, a mouthful of potage slowly making its way from utensil to crockery. He placed it back in the bowl and swallowed hard, then fought to keep sarcasm from his next statement.

"He sounds like one hell of a guy."

He paused.

"Did you know him? Personally I mean."

"No, monsieur." She shook her head, sending flashes of reddened dawn-light across the wall. 2I was a child of three when it happened and I did not live here. There are many stories about him. Most travellers who pass through here have heard one or another."

Chip finished the last of his meal.

"Well, now I can claim to be one of them."

He had meant this to be a closing sentence, deciding it was time he was moving on and away from the town and unwelcome ghosts of the past. His new-found acquaintance, however, had other ideas.

"Where are you headed to, Monsieur?"

She studied his face inquisitively as she asked this, trying to deduce the answer for herself before he spoke. A frown darted suddenly to and from her lip though, as his unremarkable clothes and expressionless features gave away nothing. Her keen eyes returned to his and awaited his response. It was to be just as vague.

"Nowhere in particular, 'damoiselle."

That much at least was true; Chip's destination was indeed unknown to him. He sensed that this would not be enough to satisfy the maiden though, and so he continued, making things up as he went along.

"I'm a wanderer. I travel from place to place, with no final destination. I focus on the journey; what I learn, what it means and what I gain from it. I plan to go into the woods yonder but after that, it is fate that guides me."

The words slid off his tongue like poetry, and he was surprised how easy it was to believe in them. He'd always had somewhat of a creative nature and it served him well, but never as well as it served him now, for the barmaid had taken in every syllable and now gazed at him in awe.

"That is…fascinating, monsieur," she purred. "Truly, you are an amazing man."

Chip blushed, though tried to hide it by reaching for his cloak.

"Thank-you, mademoiselle…"

"My name is Fauve."

"Thank-you…Fauve, but now I should be on my way."

He stood and drained the last drop of mean, before reaching into his bag and producing some coins which he placed on the table in front of the empty bowl.

"Please thank you master for an agreeable meal. It was nice to have met you, Fauve."

He bowed his head politely and made for the door, enjoying the sensation of green eyes burning into the back of his head. He no longer felt tired.

Fauve stared at the door in astonishment, her mouth open in an unsightly manner. Then, the edges of her mouth curled into a smile which travelled up to dance in her eyes. She cleared the bowl and tankard swiftly, humming to herself all the while. He had left far too much money for his meal, so she put the rest in her apron picket. After all, she had earned it. Finally, a way out.


	17. Fragmentation

Bonsoir madames et messieurs et bienvenue a chapitre septieme (? is that right?) a ma...er...story! Ok, so my french is tres bad but I felt the need to try and bring a little European culture to my story. Can you tell I didn't sleep well last night? Anyway, say goodbye to Raisse for now. This is the little darling's last chapter for a while as I have discovered theres only so much you can do with a person sitting alone in a darkened room, so after her wailings in this episode she gets a rest for a bit. Which means, we get more Chip! Huzzah! In fact, this chapter starts off with him...I have big plans for this one, oh very big plans indeed!

This was a long time coming, mainly because I, being the bright spark that I am, left my notebook at work and then had a major flap worrying that it had been thrown away, but it wasn't! Yay! So yeah, thats why I've taken my time. Trudi was not available for beta-ing for this chapter so if its riddled with grammatical errors and nonsensical plot points, thats why.

UPDATE: Now revised following comments from my beta!

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**Chapter Sixteen: Fragmentation**

"Light, damn you! Light!"

Chip rubbed the sticks together as hard as he could muster, sending bark fragments scattering in all directions. His hands were sore and blistered by now and starting to bleed. He'd been trying to start a fire for the last hour and had not produced so much as a spark. Of course, it helped little that he did not actually know how to produce flame from a mass of random plants he'd gathered from the forest floor, but a book he'd glanced through a few years back and his own stubbornness convinced him otherwise. The night was drawing in fast though, and Chip really did not want to be alone in the forest without heat and light.

He gave it one last frantic burst of energy before throwing the sticks furiously into the undergrowth. He then kicked a tree for good measure, only to reward himself with bruised toes. Defeated, tired, cold and hungry, Chip slumped down beneath the tree he'd just kicked and repeatedly slammed the back of his head on the trunk. In truth, this served no purpose but it was his way of relieving his frustration at his own stupidity.

It had been many days since he'd started. He did not precisely know how many, as he slept when he needed to sleep, ate when he was hungry and travelled regardless of the colour of the sky or the length of his shadow.

He'd started well, had made good progress in distance and his spirits has been optimistic. The princess had to be somewhere, and as long as she was somewhere, he could find her. The first few nights had been spent in taverns lining the road he chose to ride along; a main road, the one most frequently used between Lille and Montpellier. He'd arrived at each just after sunset and had an assortment of meals, varying in taste and quality. He'd drunk. He'd even taken part in a few games of Slide-thrift and Rondeau, though he hadn't known how to play either at first. Come daybreak, he'd left with a hearty breakfast inside him, ready for the day ahead.

It was only on the day he'd arrived at an inn called Chateau Lefac, owned by a rather severe-looking man by the name of Guillame de Lacey, eaten his fill and then put his hand in his bag to pay that he'd realised he had nothing left from the fair amount of coins he'd taken with him. He'd fled for his life that night, pursued by two very large men on horseback for at least five miles before he'd turned Ambrosius into a dense thicket and lost them.

Ever since then, he'd travelled day and night without the comfort of warm food or soft beds. When the sun was high, there was no shelter and little to drink, which was unfortunately the case for long periods of time when forests gave way to large flat fields of agriculture. When it was dark, he rode alone with no light or lay on grass and mud with the earth's natural bumps and lumps ensuring he did not rest well. His nutrition came from berries and seeds that he picked in the hope they weren't poisoned; his water, handfuls gulped from rivers and streams. This particular evening, one where the wind howled down the valleys and threatened to snap the stems of every flower, he had decided to attempt to start a fire and having found no flint, was making do with forest-floor mulch.

However, the pile of bracken and leaves lay unlit, he was cold and dirty and night was approaching on swift wings.

How could he have been so stupid? What was he doing? He was miles from home in search of what felt increasingly more like a phantasm. He had no idea where he was going or how he was going to get there. The Enchantress has been infuriatingly vague in her instructions; She'd said little more than that he and Raisse were joined by an unbreakablebond and that, if he closed his eyes and opened his mind, the way would be known to him. He'd ridden, foolishly thinking that he would somehow turn a corner and there she'd be, just waiting for him. She'd scowl of course and demand to know what had taken him so long, but she'd be there and alive and he'd take her home. Everything would be as it was before…except now he knew that whether he found her or not, things would never be the same again, not for him. He wasn't who he'd thought he was. There was something inside of him—he could feel it yearning to break free. Only, he was too afraid to let it. Or was he?

Suddenly, Chip had an idea. It came to him like a bolt of lightning from some sub-conscious area of his brain and was made flesh before he could properly think about it. From where he sat, he stared at the pile of leaves and twigs and willed it to catch fire.

_Light, light! _he screamed again, only this time with him the voice from within.

At first, nothing happened, so he narrowed his eyes and focused on nothing but the brushwood. Every notch on the twigs, every vein on every leaf, every bramble was burned into the back of his eye sockets. Then he felt it…he felt it move and shift around in his blood. He felt it flow from his core out into every extreme of his body. His head began to itch, then ache as the power built up inside his mind. More and more, until he struggled to retain focus. And then he blinked. And that was it.

When he looked at the spot again, it was alight with a small orangey-yellow flame, sending slithers of heat dancing across his face. Stunned, and not quite ready to believe what his sense were telling him, Chip moved over to the fire and put his left hand at the top of the flames. He was rewarded with a sharp burning sensation in his fingers, and a chill running down his spine as the realisation dawned on him. There was no doubt about it. He'd created fire from thin air,

As he warmed his hands, ensuring the burned fingers were turned away, the same heavy feeling of dread he'd felt after the resurrection of the princess hung over him. Of course, this was not on the same scale and nowhere near as potentially catastrophic, but it still meant that he, Chip, former tea-cup, glorified stable-boy and royal hanger-on, possessed powers he'd never seen before and should not have. He knew magic existed—he'd experienced a decade-long enchantment after all—but surely it was reserved for beings such as the Enchantress and used only to promote good and vanquish evil in mortals. What on earth was he doing with it? Why could he raise people from the dead and cause fire just by thinking about it?

He'd never been normal, he knew that now. It had started with the enchantment…maybe that was something to do with it. Maybe the presence of magic had affected him somehow, seized him and swallowed him. But, if that was the case, why had nobody else been affected? Maybe they had but never spoke of it. No, that couldn't be it. Gossip flowed from every mouth to every ear in the castle; he would have heard something by now if others had it.

He thought back to the enchantment. How he'd 'known' about the Enchantress lurking behind the castle door, how he'd wanted to warn the prince, but was too late. How, as the days wore on and despair ran rife in dusty corridors and gloomy courtyards, he'd found himself increasingly fascinated with the transformation of human to household object. Many a time, he'd followed each one around, hopping behind them on his stand and bombarding them with endless questions.

"What does it feel like to have a handle instead of hands?"

"How can you walk without feet?"

"Do you have a heart beating in your wooden chest?"

"How can you be alive without one?"

Cogsworth in particular amused him no end, especially as his body mainly consisted of a pendulum in a glass case.

"Did it hurt to knock it out of time?"

Apparently it did, for Chip had then had to endure a full half hour of shouting and then a month of nudging lost items out from underneath the castle's many sofas with his nose.

Then there had been his rescue of Belle and Maurice. He'd used Maurice's wood-chopping invention to smash his way into the cellar where they'd been locked in. Not a bad feat for a five year old, especially considering that he had been unable to pull down the lever to start it at first.

The machine had been left outside in the snow and cold weather: a true sign of the inventor's absence as he normally took exquisite care of his inventions. This meant that the controls were not only frozen but beginning to rust. Chip had jumped on it, fallen on it, pulled as hard as he could, but it had refused to budge. This was unsurprising as he'd weighed less than half a pound at the time. With the torches from the attackers growing fainter and time running out fast, he'd pleaded with the lever with everything he had. He'd seen it locking down in his mind and willed it to come true…and then it had. All of a sudden, the machine had come to life, spewing steam and smoke in all directions. A few blows on the coal, a tug on the whistle and he was off, hurtling towards the cellar with the axe at the front chopping at full speed.

The transformation…the magic that had changed wood and china to flesh, oil to blood, fabric to hair…it had buzzed around Chip for days afterwards. For a short time, he'd felt invincible. His mother had had to stop him several times from testing out his new body by jumping off the balcony into the fountain or running into the forest to take on the wolves. She'd scolded him time and again, as if bones were more fragile than porcelain. After the last particular incident, when he'd stated he wanted to ride one of the wolves like he rode Sultan, Mrs. Potts had gone straight to the prince and begged for the forest to be cleared and railings to be built where possible, but the feeling had left shortly afterwards.

The visions…the prophecies…he'd seen everything happen first as he grew up, starting with the one of Raisse that had only just come true, and continuing on and off for almost seventeen years. Mercifully, he could recall no other major incidents in that time. The nightmares and the lack of sleep had been enough.

Then, the incident at the waterfall, the arrival of the Enchantress and finally, the fire that was now merrily blazing away in front of him.

He'd done so much, though suddenly it all seemed so little. Suddenly, the question was no longer "What have I done?" but "What else can I do?"

Chip slept soundly that night, filled with new confidence and wonder in himself. The same could not be said for Raisse. As Chip was re-discovering himself by a lovely warm fire, Raisse shivered in a cold, draughty hut. She had a blanket, but it was little more than a moth-eaten rag and barely covered her legs, let alone her whole body. She was no longer tied up, that, at least, was a relief, but she may as well have been.

Terror had struck days ago but it still left her numb. She had made no sound since then, accepting her meals with slow nods of the head and Lefou's occasional attempts at kindness with weak smiles. It has been he who had removed the ropes forever, having somehow convinced the thing that she no longer posed much of a threat. It was he that helped her eat when she had no will to lift a spoon. It was he that tried to show her empathy and concern when the thing wasn't looking and for that she was more than grateful.

She spent her time offering up silent prayers to God to save her and thinking of all the times in her life when she had been happy. She'd been so happy. She'd never wanted for anything. A castle for a home, attentive servants, loving family, and the somewhat giddy notion that one day the entire kingdom would be hers. She'd never thought of herself as spoilt before now, choosing instead to describe herself as 'lucky' or 'fortunate', but now with a dark hovel for a castle and a few spiders for companions, she knew she was.

'A spoilt brat.' Wasn't that what Chip had called her? How right he had been. She'd never appreciated what she'd had until now. And now, it might be too late. Oh, she was confident she'd live through whatever it was she was being subjected to--she'd be dead by now if killing was the thing's intention--but at what cost? Too much time alone did strange things to people. She'd heard stories, many of them concerning an asylum that had once existed in the kingdom before it had been closed at the request of her mother. Mad people, crazy people, chains in filthy rooms all alone, screaming and mumbling to themselves.

She remembered travelling by coach along a country road one winter's night with her parents when they'd been forced to stop due to an obstruction in the road. The obstruction had turned out to be a cart on its side with 'Maison des Lunes' painted in sinister lettering glinting in the moonlight on one end. The doors at the back were open; the padlock ripped off and flung to one side.

She'd been instructed to stay where she was with her mother and a maid while her father and the coach driver got out to see what the matter was. They had not been gone five minutes when a face had appeared at the window. A woman's face, dark and gaunt, her skin stretched over her bones and haunted eyes that had stared straight through her. She'd rapped on the window and spoken, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Selene…Selene…let Mamma in, sweetheart. Mamma's cold."

Raisse had shrieked and turned away, alerting her mother who'd shouted for Vincent. When they'd reached their destination, they'd discovered from the town mayor what had happened. The cart had lost a wheel and overturned, the horses had fled and the jolt had forced the doors open, allowing the handful of inmates it was carrying to escape. It took guards a week to find them all, but in that time a particularly dangerous one had been found covered in unknown blood and cradling a dead baby, crying for her own lost child.

Raisse had never forgotten that frightening event, and now held an intense fear of such institutions and losing herself like that poor woman in the road. With nothing to do but let her mind wander on minimal food and drink and no light, she wondered how long it would be before she started imagining things that did not exist. She'd never been alone in her life. She was frightened to be alone anymore. She wanted to go home. She wanted her father to protect her from the world, she wanted her mother to love her and hold her close but most of all, she realised she wanted Chip. He'd know what to do, he always did. She'd already decided that the….thing….that had done those awful things to her had not been Chip. How could it be? Chip cared for her, would never harm her. It had been an illusion, a trick by the evil being that kept her prisoner. This decision left her free to think of him—the friend she'd known all her life. His mischievous eyes, his infectious smile, the way he made her feel when she was around him…

It was he that was in her thoughts as she drifted off the sleep.


	18. Threat on a Moonlit Night

Hi everyone Just a small A/N...on underwear, of all topics. Now, despite an extensive search of my internet resouces, I could not find any information on men's undies between the 17th century and the 19th century, and this is supposed to be set in 1767. So, I have used braies as this was what they wore up to the 17th century. Pics are available if you type it into google, kind of like a nappy/diaper actually. So, in case you were wondering, thats what braies are! Now I bet you're wondering why I have a chapter including men's undies...you'd better read on and find out!

My thanks again to all my wonderful reviewers and Trudi, my beta. I would also like to give thanks in advance to Alex i.e disneybubbles who has very kindly agreed to do an artworkcommision for me of Chip sometime over the summer! I can't wait! Shameless plug warning: check out her work on deviantart!

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**Chapter Seventeen: Threat on a Moonlit Night**

Chip awoke invigorated, the memory of last night's accomplishment as fresh as the gently glowing embers in front of him. The fire had lasted all night despite its small size and the constant winds that even the tallest trees had failed to quash. Its brightness was still as intense, even against the sunshine all around it. The sun was not yet at its highest position in the sky. Chip estimated the time as between ten and eleven, though it really mattered none.

Chip's confidence was high. His whole body tingled with anticipation. For the first time in days, he felt he had a sense—just a small sense—of who he really was, and the fact that there was more, maybe much more, about him to discover made his heart pound just thinking about it. It was potentially a whole new identity, even though it had been secretly lurking underneath his old one all his life. No, not a new identity…an _improved _identity. He was still himself. He was still Chip, but with power.

He wanted it all, he realised with sudden insight. All, and as soon as possible. Then he'd be more than a match for any creature, mortal or no. He just knew it.

But not yet...starting a fire was one thing, defeating evil was quite another! There was much he had to learn, but then he _had _brought a person back from the dead. Surely that was a sign that he could do anything, even defy the apparent certainty that was death. Or maybe that had been just the beginning. Maybe there were feats even better and more magnificent still…

His mind raced with endless possibilities, each one more ambitious than the last as he loaded his pack, now a lot lighter than had been, onto Ambrosius and climbed into the saddle. A click of his tongue, and they were away, galloping through the forest into the open underneath a sea-blue sky.

The fire they left behind died as soon as it was out of Chip's mind. Nothing but some strewn blackened twigs and the lingering smell of smoke hinted that anyone had ever been in the clearing.

It was enough though. Enough for another horse and rider to find barely an hour later. The cloaked figure jumped down from the horse, a large and mighty black stallion with dark, thunderous hooves, and walked slowly towards the extinguished fire, burnt and fragile twigs snapping underfoot.

A sniff of the air, and the figure crouched down, removing a glove to feel the embers with bare hands, looking for the slightest trace of warmth that would dictate how long ago the fire was left. The same hand picked up leaf and twig, examining each carefully to determine type and origin. There were leaves with lobed edges, charred until they were hardly recognisable, in the ashes. That pointed to the nearby towering oak and the area around it. Sure enough, a quick inspection of the bushes and undergrowth nearby revealed disturbance. Whoever had been here last had not ventured far for kindling. Why could that have been? Fear? Laziness? Fatigue?

An overhanging branch that intruded into the clearing caught the rider's attention. The bark was chipped and scratched, most likely from tightly-bound leather straps—a horse's reins.

Someone on a horse had clearly arrived, spent the night and left recently, having lit a fire during their time here that had lasted longer than it should have done. But who? That was the most important question. It would take a keen nose and a keener eye to deduce the identity of the man the rider was tracking. Luckily, the rider had both, and this particular man had an extremely distinctive scent: the scent of magic. It hung everywhere around the clearing, on everything he'd touched, but most strongly around the embers of the fire. This fire, then, was not started from candle or taper or spark from flint—hardly surprising as there were none of these about—but from magic.

He could start fires from nothing. Impressive, but still a very basic elemental spell. The most established of enchanters could make molten fire or flames that burned any colour of the rainbow and smelled of any fragrance. This had been just an ordinary fire, albeit one that had lasted as long as it had been needed.

Most of the rider's questions had been answered. It was time to leave, but not without collecting a few supplies. A deceptively small leather pouch hung from the rider's belt, among other things. It contained several varieties of fauna, each one carefully separated from the others and wrapped in linen, each one kept for a specific purpose, and now about to be added to from the abundance of vegetation around the clearing.

The oak tree in particular proved very useful. The rider removed several stems of lichen from the trunk as well as pieces of bark, carefully sliced off of the wood with a sharpened knife. Attention was then turned to a small cluster of yellow flowers at the other side of the space. These were cut, pressed and wrapped along with the oak and placed in the pouch.

Satisfied, the rider returned to the horse, remounted and, spotting a trail of snapped branches and ruffled bushes, as well as tell-tale hoof-prints on the dusty ground, rode straight towards them, confident that they were swiftly gaining on the traveller they sought.

Chip rode on firmly until sunset, choosing to ignore feelings of hunger or thirst. He was being driven by a different need now: one that was not as easily quenched or fed. The need for knowledge and progression.

However, riding hard in the warm and sticky summer heat in the same clothes he had been wearing for days was starting to have an effect on his wellbeing. He'd last had a bath three taverns before he'd stopped staying in taverns, and perched atop a hot and bothered Ambrosius with his hair hanging limply over his forehead, the normally fairly well-groomed Chip suddenly felt ashamedly filthy. Wiping a sleeve over his unshaven cheeks and sweaty brow, he banished all other thoughts from his mind and succumbed to the very human desire to be clean.

The sun was barely visible on the horizon now, its reddish-gold rays making way for the grey shades of early evening, but the air was still muggy and weighed down on Chip's every movement as he and Ambrosius plodded wearily along the road, his eyes scanning the land ahead of him for the tiniest hint of water.

Just as the stars began to peer out from the black velvet night sky, Chip found a river running lazily out from between two hills in the distance and disappearing into a dense forest nearby. A sudden urge to nervously check for waterfalls was soothed as he realised thatt the water was smooth and calm; the only movement being a gentle flow of water from west to east and the only noise the soft sound of cool liquid caressing earth and stone.

As Chip dismounted, he ran his hands over Ambrosius' coat. It was damp and matted beneath his fingers. The mane was tangled and strewn with the debris of travelling. Sighing, Chip began untacking him, wincing as he noticed patches where the horse's hair had started to wear away under the heavy saddle, His normally took exceptional care of his beloved steed, but his mind had been elsewhere ever since they'd ;left the castle, and he'd allowed Ambrosius to be neglected.

"What I wouldn't give for a curry comb and a brush," he murmured as he inspected the rest of the horse's skin for any serious sores. Alas, there was nothing he could do, save to try and coax the horse into the river with him. At least that would clear away some of the muck, but Ambrosius had never been a lover of water. Once his harness had been removed, he trotted off to a plentiful patch of grass nearby and had his nose buried in the nourishing food before Chip could even think about guiding him to the water.

Not wasting another moment, Chip removed his shirt, his breeches, his stockings and boots, and finally his braies and waded into the river up to his waist. The water was absolutely freezing, especially to Chip's overly-warm skin. He swore loudly and bit his lip as it chilled his blood and numbed his muscles. Taking a deep breath, he dropped to his knees, plunging his head and shoulders under the surface for as many seconds as he could stand it. Gasping, he stood up again, his hair now plastered to his head like a helmet and dripping in his eyes. An involuntary full body shiver took him over, causing him to grit his teeth against the cold. Grimacing, he began to wash.

After a while, his body temperature adjusted, however, and he began to enjoy himself a little. He even attempted to swim, managing a few strokes before giving in and floating on his back, watching the night sky above him. He had just shocked a surprised Ambrosius by playfully splashing him with water as he drank at the water's edge when he suddenly got an overwhelming feeling of being watched. On instinct, he ducked down so only his head was above water and stayed there, hardly daring to move, for several minutes. He heard and saw nothing out of the ordinary during this time, but it did not ease his mind one bit.

Suddenly realising just how vulnerable he was while naked in the middle of a river, his eyes flicked to his belongings on the bank. His dagger was there, along with his clothes, about twenty feet from where he was in the middle of the river. Oblivious to his master's anxiety, Ambrosius continued to drink nearby.

Chip was torn between slowly and quietly moving towards the bank, and leaping for dry land as fast as possible, no doubt making lots of noise and drawing attention to himself while he did so. His heart pounded as his eyes scanned everywhere around him for signs of movement. There was none, but Chip trusted his instincts more than his sight. Just because he could see no-one did not mean that he could not be seen.

Silently, he half-walked half-drifted to the water's edge, waiting until the sediment beneath is feet began to slope upwards. Once he felt the sand between his toes, he looked for his bag. It was an arm's length away with the cord at its neck loose where he'd dropped it on the floor in his haste to be in the river. He would just be able to reach it while he was still in the water but if he got out, his general field of vision would be greatly improved.

Without another thought, Chip scrambled out of the water. His left hand scooped up the bag while his right fumbled for the dagger inside and held it aloft, so any attackers could see he was armed. He immediately felt safer…until he remembered he was still completely naked. He grabbed his braies and pulled them on as fast as possible, barely registering the bleeding grazes on his both his knees where he'd scraped them on the hard soil of the river bank. Now armed, dripping and with his modesty preserved, Chip began to look for his foe. He was not a fighting man. His use of blades had until now been restricted to carving and whittling pieces of wood whilst bored during his duties at the palace. He was fully aware that he was woefully ill-equipped for an ambush or robbery. Not that he had anything of value on his person at that moment in time, but he had heard the stories--tales of bands of men who roamed the countryside looking for easy prey, attacking more for sport than for monetary gain. If he was a target now, it was more than likely his quest would be cut short. He could hardly search for the princess if he was left lying bruised and broken by the side of the river.

Cursing under his breath, he forced himself to get rid of such thoughts. He was on this quest alone because he could easily take care of himself. Not all battles were fought with knives and fists, though he was damned if he could think of anything useful at the moment.

A sudden movement out of the corner of his right eye caught his attention. His focus shifted to the clump of trees to one side. Was it his imagination or had some branches been pushed out of position? He struggled to see in the darkness. The moon was full and high in the sky, but its light was currently shining on the opposite side of the river, its beam partially blocked by clouds. It was no help to him as he peered into the shadowy areas between the tress.

There it was again! Unmistakable, this time. A flash of something light in the gloom. His opponents lack of stealth on this occasion cheered him a little, though his grip never loosened on the dagger's handle. Cautiously, he approached the copse, his heart thumping in his chest, his mind tuned to every sight and sound; the rustle of the leaves, the shades and shadows in front of him, his own footsteps, and the scrape of dirt on heel as he edged forwards.

As he crossed the boundary between copse and pasture, he changed his mind. It was instantaneous, like a wave that washed away his strategy and left a new one in its wake. Instead of going further into the trees, he decided to wait. Crouching down behind a thick hawthorn bush, he felt fresh anticipation as the balance of power shifted. The hunter had become the hunted. With a clearer head, he observed the area he had just come from. A few trees to either side, mud, the grassy bank and then the river beyond it, with Ambrosius still drinking his fill to one side.

_Stupid horse, _he thought, shaking his head in fond disbelief.

Wait…there was something else…some_one_ else moving out of the trees to his right….a cloaked figure walking towards the horse. It stopped as it appeared to notice his discarded bag on the grass. He watched it stoop in order to pick it up.

This was his chance! Slipping seamlessly out from his hiding-place, he crept up behind the figure. In one swift action, he had the dagger held across what he estimated to be its throat. All the energy he had went into holding the dagger steady as he instructed the figure to get up in a hoarse and scratchy voice he didn't recognise as his own.

"Stand up…slowly…that's right…stand up!"

It did as he asked, rising gradually up from the ground with two arms spread wide in the traditional gesture of surrender. With a hesitant smirk, Chip realised that his would-be assailant was at least a half a foot shorter than he. He lowered the arm holding the knife to adjust.

_Now what?_

"Er…turn around…slowly."

There followed a moment of physical awkwardness as the figure turned around and Chip realised he had to change hands in order to stop his arm being twisted the wrong way. A hood obscured the whole of the person's face, apart from a section of smooth pale chin and throat, partially obscured by the blade of the knife.

"Show yourself!" demanded Chip.

A gloved hand slowly was slowly brought up towards the hood. It was jerked backwards. What Chip saw upon this revelation almost made him drop the knife in shock. He managed to control it by moving it slightly…just slightly away from her neck.

Green eyes, bright in the darkness and beneath fine raised eyebrows, looked straight into his own, as they had done before. It was the flame-haired girl from the tavern.


	19. Losing Control

**Chapter Eighteen: Losing Control**

A pop, a click and a splash. With these sounds, the King of France poured himself another brandy. With slightly trembling fingers, he brought the glass to his mouth, momentarily enjoying the feel of fine crystal on his lips before sending a long sip of liquid fire hurtling to the back of his throat. The strong taste made him grimace and his handsome features twist in disgust. Nevertheless, he took another sip.

Vincent had never been much of a drinker. He preferred to rule his country and household with a clear head and sober disposition, unlike some of his predecessors. However, recent events had seen him find a small sense of solace in the castle's rather large stocks of premium cognac, normally reserved for special occasions. It numbed the pain of losing his only child.

It had been almost a month since her disappearance from the guarded bedroom in the middle of the day, and slightly less time since the departure of Chip in pursuit of her. So far, there had been no word or sighting of either of them. Vincent didn't know how much longer he could stand the awful uncertainty.

He had sent guards out on no less than four occasions since then, only for them to return empty-handed every time. The Enchantress had said that the guards could do nothing, but he was not convinced. In his eyes, whoever or whatever this abductor was, there had to be people that knew about its existence and whereabouts. People that could be caught and tried for treason. It would help…like the cognac helped.

But it didn't help. It only made matters worse. Vincent looked down at the half-drunk liquor in his hand. Once he'd finished it, then what? He'd have another? And another? And end up a drunken fool, no better than the louts who frequented the nearby tavern? He wouldn't get his daughter back by continuously staring at the bottom of a brandy glass…

His thoughts were interrupted by a firm and measured knocking on the oak-panelled doors. Vincent re-corked the bottle and placed it back in his desk.

"Come in!" he boomed, as steadily as he could muster. The handle turned and Cogsworth entered the room, sweeping himself into a low bow as he did so.

Good old Cogsworth. Reliable, dependable Cogsworth. The man had been somewhat of a saviour these past few weeks. No matter how anxious everyone felt or how chaotic life got, he insisted on a strict routine at all times for every one in the castle, including the Royal Family. It was this tightly-planned schedule that had helped keep Vincent sane lately. With hardly a moment to himself, he'd had little time to dwell on situations he could not change.

"Dinner is served, your majesty. Tonight's menu includes this season's wonderful veal with foie gras, your highness' favourite beef ragout with fresh vegetables from the castle gardens, a selection of the Chef's exquisite fruit pies with…"

"Thank you, Cogsworth. I shall be down shortly."

The servant bowed and left. As efficient and distracting as he was, he did have a tendency to recite every dish available beforehand in such a mundane manner that it often made the King lose his appetite. Tonight's menu was especially extensive as the Royal

Household were entertaining the Duke of Burgundy and his notoriously large entourage during a feast that had been intended as a device to introduce the princess to his Grace. The Duke had a son about Raisse's age that he was eager to marry off, and the pair had seemed to enjoy each other's company at the last Yuletide Ball.

Of course, the current absence of the princess did put somewhat of a damper on the proceedings, but the Duke, and his much younger wife, and all their household and hangers-on too, had pleaded that the visit not be cancelled, stating that a pleasant meal would lift spirits no end. After much deliberation and persuasion, Vincent had agreed. After all, the Duke was an excellent match for him at chess, a game he'd become very proficient at over the last few years.

Checking his appearance in the large ornate mirror on the wall, the King straightened his cravat and went to endure the evening.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Several miles away, Chip was trying to deal with the arrival of his own guest, although this one was unexpected and unwelcome.

With the knife still hovering mere inches from her throat, the intruder waited for him to speak, seemingly unable or unwilling to do so herself. Chip remained silent too, because he was desperately trying to remember the name of the woman in front of him.

_F…F…Fauna? Flora? Fou…Faux…._

"You!"

It was better than nothing. Of course, it would have sounded more confrontational if shock hadn't made him deliver the word in a comically high-pitched tone. She said nothing, though the constant flick of her eyes between his own and the knife gave away her fear.

"From the tavern! You! Why are you here? What do you want?"

The words came out slightly garbled as Chip fought to keep panic from distorting his voice further. He sneered at himself. How was he supposed to become a formidable adversary of evil if he was losing his senses from the surprise presence of a mere girl?

"I'm sorry!" she blurted out. "I mean you no harm. Please don't hurt me."

Chip shook his head in disbelief.

"What….Have you been following me all this time?"

She hesitated, and then nodded.

"Why?"

"It is hard to explain, Monsieur. I would ask you to be satisfied with the knowledge that I needed to leave that place and I saw a way out with a stranger with kind eyes."

Chip was not convinced. His gaze and hold on the knife never faltered.

"Go on."

"What you said in the tavern…about fate being your guide. It is what I want more than anything. A new uncertain life…and I feel a connection between us. Don't you feel it?"

There was no response from Chip, so she continued.

"I have been meaning to escape for a long time, and I had always meant to accompany a traveller. I could journey with them to their destination and then start anew, far away from everything I had known before. I left at sunset, thinking that I could catch up with you quickly, but you ride so fast! I did not mean to sneak up on you and I am truly sorry for startling you…but I could help you! We could help each other."

Chip looked at her, trying to comprehend what she was asking. It was very reckless for a lone woman to randomly pursue a stranger. She was either very brave or very foolish…or very desperate to get away. He wondered what had happened to her to make her take such an extreme course of action. Something awful, no doubt. That something he could see in her eyes, and it made him pity her.

"How can you help me?"

"I was raised in the forest, monsieur, and was taught from an early age to survive alone in it. I know how to make medicines and ointment from what nature provides me, such as to treat the scrapes on your knees."

Chip looked down. He was indeed bleeding from harsh grazes on both his legs.

"I also have an excellent sense of direction. I have tracked you for days simply by reading tiny signs you have left behind on your journey. I can be useful to many a traveller, particularly those such as yourself that stand before me hungry, bleeding and armed with a blunt knife."

She smiled smugly at the look of indignation that swept across Chip's face at her comment, and then at the bewilderment he felt as he gingerly ran his fingers down the blade feeling the coarse but not sharp metal touch his skin without marking it. He tried to hide his embarrassment by clearing his throat.

"And what exactly is it that you want of me?"

"Protection and companionship. Nothing more. Once you reach wherever it is you're going, I shall leave and never bother you again. I promise."

Suddenly, Chip felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. At the tavern, he'd told this woman he was bound for nowhere, careless and carefree. She obviously did not know what she was getting involved in. Sighing heavily, and discarding the knife for it was clearly of no use to him, he ran his hands through his hair before addressing her again.

"Mademoiselle…."

"Fauve," she corrected, detesting formalities only when directed at her.

_That was it! Fauve!_

"…I fear I have misled you. What I told you before was not entirely true. My destination is unknown only in actual location, for I am in fact on a quest. A very dangerous quest, as it happens, to rescue…something very precious from…er…something evil."

Chip knew how vague he sounded, but he chose his words with caution. She only needed to know enough to deter her from accompanying him further.

"If you travel with me, you will be putting yourself at risk, and I will be endangering you if I allow it. Although I confess I would enjoy your company…" and he meant this, for he _was_ lonely and against his better judgment, starting to like the girl's spirit and character… "This is a burden for me to bear by myself and I should face my destiny alone."

Fauve seemed to absorb this frankly frightening information surprisingly calmly. She did not seem scared or even remotely anxious. She merely stood, eyes down with her hands clasped together, apparently lost in thought for a moment. Then, she looked up and smiled in a way that unexpectedly sent tingles down his spine.

"I do not fear evil. I know it of old. It can be overcome, but not without hardship. Let me help you….please?"

………………………………………………………………………………………

Half an hour later, Chip was dressed again in his shirt and breeches, with one leg rolled up above his knee. He winced as Fauve applied something yellowy-green she'd produced from her bag to his grazes. It felt like stinging nettles being plunged into his flesh.

"What _is _that?" he asked, between gritted teeth.

"It is agrimony. It will help clean the wounds."

"And it's a plant?"

"That is so."

She started to wrap the cuts with a strip of linen.

"How do you know about all these…healing plants?"

She hesitated slightly.

"My mother taught me. Her mother taught her."

"Are you a witch?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could consider the irony of him saying them. She laughed.

"Of course not. Just because you are unfamiliar with herbalism does not make it witchcraft."

Chip studied her face carefully as she concentrated on securing the linen in a complicated knot. He had agreed to let her stay with him as long as she was useful, but that did not mean he trusted her. He'd questioned her relentlessly about herself since she'd joined him which had not seemed to faze her at all. Her name was Fauve Saint-Pierre, she was twenty years of age, and she lived for a short time with her mother, Claudine, before leaving home to find work. She'd become a barmaid at the tavern where he'd met her, but she disliked it immensely.

As well as tracking, cooking and herbalism, she was adept at horseback riding and dress-making, although she assured him that the two did not go together. She was also unmarried, which was unusual for her tender age and rare beauty, but made sense as she was clearly independently-minded and could take surprisingly good care of herself.

She'd not asked one question of him during this time, though he had thought she'd have plenty. She hadn't even asked him his name. She'd simply made a fire as he'd put the rest of his clothes on, presumably to try to prove her worth, and then insisted he let her dress the scrapes he'd obtained from scrambling up the riverbank earlier, which she was still doing now, seemingly unhampered by the constantly flickering light of the fire.

On the ground lay an assortment of herbs from Fauve's bag, along with a small stone bowl and pounder, which she'd told him was called a mortar and pestle, and a pan of water collected from the river and heated over the fire. This water had been used to make the paste that was now smeared all over Chip's knee. The sting had faded to a gentle throb by now, and Fauve was packing the herbs back into the bag with her back to the fire. Her red hair was now loose and tumbled down her shoulders. From where Chip sat, it seemed as if her whole head was a-flame. He watched her intently, studying how her nimble fingers, now ungloved, worked their way through the herbs, re-wrapping them carefully. She no longer wore her cloak, for it was a warm night. She'd taken it off before she lit the fire, revealing a simple earth-green dress made up of a bodice, apron and skirt that had been purposefully split down the middle to make the wearer more comfortable whilst riding.

There was nothing unusual about it, it was an outfit worn by many a respectable young woman of the time, yet Chip could not help but notice how the colour intensified the green of Fauve's eyes, how the waistband had been sewn to accentuate her narrow waist and fuller hips, and how the neckline was perhaps a little lower than was usual, revealing more skin than was normally necessary. She could pass for a virtuous young maid, but something about her told Chip there was more to her than the eye could see. Not for the first time that evening, he wondered why he really wanted her to stay.


	20. Chip and Fauve, and The Resolution

_Hmm, thats odd. The line thing doesn't seem to be working. Guess I'll just have to improvise. Anyway, finally my next chapter is up, and is not beta'd because I wanted to post it now, so apologies for any roughness. This chapter is loooooong, I'm warning you now! And I have to admit I'm not entirely happy with it, but I'm a perfectionist, nothing I do is good enough for me! I hope its satisfactory, and I do believe the next chapter is going to be a Raisse chapter, cos I've broken my stalemate with her and thought of a plot bunny._

**Chapter Nineteen:- Chip and Fauve, and the Resolution**

The forest was still. All was quiet, save for the gentle babble of a nearby river, the rustle of leaf on tree as the wind caught branches and the sound of steady breathing emanating from the two people sleeping in the clearing.

Fauve lay on her side, her knees and elbows bent so that the whole of her body fit underneath the cloak draped over her. Her head lay on a convenient pile of moss; no substitute for a soft goose-feather pillow but better than bare earth. Chip was asleep on the other side of the fire flat on his back. It had pleased him to gaze at the stars before he'd drifted off and his position had changed little since then. He'd also been dreamless for most of the night, his mind content to lie dormant in his sleeping head. However, his peaceful repose was about to be broken. As he shifted his weight slightly on to his left side, he began to dream. He dreamed of darkness.

_Darkness during the daytime. A place, a building, isolated, bare...no, not bare…a bundle of rags lay in one corner. He walked towards it, stooping because the ceiling was so low. Tentatively, he raised his foot to kick it. It moved before his toe touched it, and he leapt back. It made a noise like the whimper of a mangy dog. Carefully, he edged forwards again, reaching out his hand very slowly until he felt coarse material brush the tips of his fingers. He clutched the blanket and pulled hard, and it slipped quickly to the floor to reveal a thin, dirty figure wearing a faded and torn blue dress. Its head, covered with matted blonde hair, was rolled down into its shoulders. As he stood there, hardly daring to breathe, the head began to lift very, very slowly, a curtain of hair obscuring its face. Wide, brown eyes peered up at him above tear-stained cheeks._

'_Raisse?' he heard himself whispering._

_Her cracked lips parted just enough to allow her to speak. A hollow and dry sound rattled from her throat._

'_Help me', she pleaded._

_As he watched, her skin turned paler, paler still until it was winter-white. Her eyes darkened. Her lips drew back too far to reveal broken teeth. Her small, delicate nose seemed to disappear completely. Suddenly, Chip realised he was staring at a skull._

A scream brought him back from his nightmare. He sat up so quickly that his head spun, almost sending him hurtling back into the darkness. His throat hurt, because the scream was coming from him. His heart was pounding fit to break his chest.

_No…no…it can't be true, It's not real…it's not real!_

It took him a few minutes to remember where he was and to banish that awful sight from his vision. It was still dark, but he was outside. The moon high in the sky above him confirmed that. No room, no rags, no Raisse…

_Raisse…_

How could he have forgotten? He hadn't thought about her for days it seemed. He'd been so pre-occupied with his new-found abilities and Fauve.

_Fauve…_

He looked across the clearing to where she still lay sleeping, despite his screams just a few moments earlier. She looked so peaceful…as though she didn't have a care in the world.

And maybe that much was true. To her, this was all some big adventure. He hadn't told her the full details of his quest yet, and she hadn't asked. She'd seemed content merely to ride alongside him talking about nothing in particular—herbs and their properties, her horse, even the weather—and he'd been content just to listen to the sound of her voice. It was deeper than one might expect, almost husky, but still somehow feminine, with just a hint of an accent. Chip didn't have an accent, despite having lived in France all his life. He could pin that down to being around people like Cogsworth for most of the time and living in a household where the first language was English.

Fauve could speak both French and English fluently, and sometimes when she talked, she slipped from one to the other mid-sentence, seeming to prefer certain English words to French and vice versa. He liked the way she pronounced his name. She made it sound more interesting.

He had her to thank for easing his mind over the last few days. They could almost have been any two people just wandering on horseback through the countryside.

Except they weren't.

Chip cursed himself. Forgetting had been nice for a while, but he was on a quest. A very important quest, with the life of the princess at stake. The shock of his nightmare suddenly made him realise what could happen if he failed. He hoped with all his strength that it hadn't come to pass yet.

There was a way to find out.

His bag lay just a few feet away from where he now sat. Quietly and carefully, he leant over and retrieved it from its spot on the ground. He untied the cord holding it shut and felt inside, until his fingers closed around something smooth and heavy. The magic mirror.

At first, he was going to look into it there and then, but a murmur from Fauve reminded him just how bright the light from within it shone when it was used. He did not want to wake her up. He got up and walked until he was hidden in the shadows with thick trees on all sides of him, and then he spoke to the mirror.

"I wish to see the princess, please."

The magical light that suddenly burst forward from the glass was enough to temporarily blind any man, but Chip was used to it by now. His eyes never left the mirror as he waited for the image to clear in front of him.

There she was! Raisse!

Looking at her now, it seemed a near-eternity since he'd seen her. His heart ached, and he realised how much he missed her, and everything about her.

In the mirror, she was sitting on the floor, wide awake and alone. He smiled with relief when he saw that she appeared in good health, despite her situation. She was afraid—he could see it in her eyes—but beneath that was the stubborn mind and determination that made Raisse who she was. They could never take her spirit away from her, he knew that.

That did not mean she was out of danger. Not at all. In fact, he knew very well that her quick tongue and even quicker temper were just likely to increase it. He prayed she hadn't said or done anything foolish in the last month.

"Where are you?" he heard himself whisper, so quiet that the rustle of the trees threatened to drown him out. "Tell me where you are."

Of course, he did not expect an answer. As marvellous as the mirror was, it was not intended as a means of conversation. Nonetheless, he continued,

"What do I need to do, Raisse? How can I find you?"

_She does not even know that I am searching for her. She does not know that anyone is searching for her…Jesu, I hope she's ok._

Suddenly, he could no longer bare the thought of her trapped and alone anymore. He had to find her! If only he knew how….

Of course! That was it! The answer had been in front of him the whole time! Chip looked one last time upon the face of the princess, and then asked another request of the mirror.

"Show me Raisse's captor."

Once again, the mirror burst into life, sending tiny, twisting strands of light travelling over the surface and down the handle. The brightness cleared, and Chip peered anxiously at the glass.

Nothing.

There was nothing. The mirror remained blank. Chip tried again. Perhaps his instruction was not clear.

"Show me who has taken the princess."

The time the mirror did nothing whatsoever. It just showed his reflection; a reflection he could hardly see for darkness anyway.

"Work, curse you!" shouted Chip, while vigorously shaking it and hitting it against his palm. Unsurprisingly, this had no effect. For one terrible moment, he thought he'd broken it.

"Show me Raisse!" he shouted with some urgency. The mirror obeyed. Once again, the image of the princess shone in front of him.

"What am I doing wrong?" he said to the trees, all the time examining the mirror for clues.

"What kind of mirror is it?" said a voice from behind him. Chip whirled round, concealing the mirror behind his back as he did so.

"Fauve? I thought you were asleep!" he exclaimed at the sight of her looking at him quizzically from between an unknown shrub and a mossy tree stump.

"I was," she said, calmly. "Is it an enchanted one?"

"I…I," he stammered. "Why?"

She smirked at his expression and raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"If it's a magic mirror, and from your reaction, I think I can assume that it is, then sometimes they cannot show you everything."

"What do you mean?"

"Certain…beings can conceal themselves from mirrors with spells. Any creature that is magical…enchanters, wizards, demons…they can shield themselves with the simplest of hexes. It depends who made the mirror. Can I see?"

She moved towards him and held out her hand. Instinctively, he stepped backwards, gripping the mirror tighter.

"How do you know all this?" he demanded.

"My mother, remember? She had a whole library about magic…I was telling you this yesterday!"

"You were?"

She smiled, feigning impatience. "Yesterday? Right before we ate. I was cooking rabbit stew and telling you about my mother."

Chip struggled to remember. He had been distracted obviously…oh, that's right, He had not been listening because he had been thinking about his own mother. Thinking, wondering, wishing…

Fauve's voice cut into his thoughts. "It does not matter. I can tell you why it is not showing you whatever it is you want it to if you let me see it."

Chip searched her eyes, looking for any sign of deceit or malice. There was none, only mild annoyance. Slowly, he brought it out from behind his back and gave it to her.

"Thank-you," she said, her lips curling into a shy smile. He watched as she inspected the back of it, running her fingers over the grooves and notches engraved in the silver.

"Ah…see here?"

She beckoned him over. He walked and stood behind her, looking at the mirror over her shoulder. The silver shone in the moonlight, highlighting her finger as she pointed to what appeared to be a group of numbers etched into the metal.

"This is one of the older kinds of mirrors. Its sight can be easily blocked by a counter-spell. The most basic of wizards can cast them. More powerful creatures, such as demons, can block mirrors with a blink."

She looked at Chip with a vacant expression.

"So which one are you trying to see, I wonder?"

He didn't answer. He was desperately trying to decide whether to tell her everything or not. Suddenly, he needed to share it all with somebody and have help carrying the burden meant for his back alone, but he had known Fauve for barely seven days and nights, and the fact that she knew more about magic than him…was that a aide or a warning? He watched her as she absently turned the mirror over and realised too late that the image of Raisse was still in the glass. Once again, it seemed he was powerless to stop the inevitable. He saw Fauve's eyes widen at what she saw, and then narrow in concentration.

"I know her, I've seen her before somewhere," she murmured, more to her own memory than anyone else. Chip rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Her name is Raisse."

"Rai…sse", said Fauve, still apparently struggling to recognise the girl in the mirror, though her portrait hung in every city in France. Chip was just about to invent an elaborate story about Raisse being his sister, when Fauve understood.

"The princess? She's the princess, is she not? Princess Raisse!" she gasped, as something clicked in her brain. "You're…searching for the princess."

It was a statement, not a question. Chip still said nothing and kept his eyes on the ground. Better for her to draw her own conclusions than for him to offer any information. That way, he would not let anything slip that he needn't. Fauve was silent too, as she continued to stare at the mirror in an otherwise narcissistic manner. Then, she slowly walked over to one side where several rocks of all shapes and sizes lay strewn among the tree trunks, and began to hunt for something.

"Fauve?"

She was making him nervous. She said nothing, and he wondered if she knew. Suddenly, she turned round. In her left hand, she held a small, jagged rock. In her right, was the mirror, which she carefully placed face-up on a large smooth-topped rock nearby. She raised her left hand, until the rock grasped in her fingers was held precariously two feet above the mirror. With sheer horror, Chip realised what she was about to do, and was only stopped from shouting and rushing towards her by the look in her eyes. She held his gaze and he saw intense fear. Controlled, but unmistakable nonetheless. He'd managed to make yet another woman afraid of him without trying, though he was struggling with why this time.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Tell me the truth or I'll smash it into a thousand pieces, so help me God!"

"What?" Chip was baffled. "I've told you the truth. Every word!"

"Not all of it! Magic mirrors, secret quests to save royalty, making fire from air…"

"What fire?" Chip turned to look at the one she'd made earlier that evening.

"The one you made before. I've been tracking you, so don't lie! It stank of magic. Who are you really?"

She raised her arm higher as if to emphasise her question. Chip's temper chose that moment to make an appearance. He was tired and upset, and the only person who he allowed to talk to him in such a manner was the princess…and battling with some bar wench in a forest was getting him no nearer to finding her.

"You chose to accompany me, not I you. I owe you nothing, least of all an explanation. Give me my mirror."

He walked towards her, his arm outstretched, his eyes as cold and piercing as he could make them.

"I mean it!" she practically screeched, and he could see her arm was shaking, but she still brandished the mirror like a weapon.

"Don't be an idiot, Fauve. The life of the princess and the fate of the kingdom depend on me. I have no time to waste."

"Then don't waste it! Just tell me…please?" she pleaded. "I want to help you, but I need to know."

"Give me the mirror and I'll tell you."

She stood her ground, clearly determined to win this battle of wills, though her resolve was weakening. It was his eyes that were weakening her. They were a deep, angry blue on the surface, but underneath that, she could see sadness, confusion and honesty. As if to confirm this, he said. "I promise I'll tell you what I can. I just need the mirror."

He was close to her now, so close that she could see the fine lines around his eyes—lines that should not exist on such a young man. She could see the hardened skin on his hands, the movement of his throat as he swallowed. She wanted—no, needed—to know more. She gave him the mirror, and then leant against a tree, muttering to herself,

"I never could carry out my threats."

She saw Chip holding the mirror in his hand like it was most the precious object in the world.

"She's pretty," she said, enviously. She knew that she herself was attractive, but not in the fair, delicate way that the princess was. Chip said nothing, but carefully put the mirror through a loophole on his belt.

"So, you're her…what? Affianced, intended…."

"I'm not her suitor, if that's what you mean" he said sharply, and perched himself upon the rock she would have smashed the mirror on. "I'm her friend. I've known her since the day she came into this world."

"Oh," said Fauve, sensing that there was more to that statement than he let on. "You must care about her a lot."

"I do."

A heavy silence lingered in the air. Fauve decided it was time to change the topic of conversation.

"So, have you had magical powers all of your life?"

Chip sighed and rubbed his head as though it hurt to think.

"I don't know, not for sure. They just seem to happen. Sometimes I'm in control, other times…other times I'm not. The fire…I couldn't start one with the usual methods, so I just…thought about one and it happened."

"Could you start one now?"

He paused. "I think so."

Fauve almost expected the ground around them to burst into flame there and then, but the forest remained still.

"What else can you do?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. I haven't really tried anything else." He decided that she did not need to know about what he'd done to Raisse. "After I lit the fire, I felt like I could do anything. I wanted to do anything, but…"

"But what? If I could do magic, I'd do it all the time."

"I'm afraid." There, he'd said it. "I'm scared of what would happen, of what I could do. I could lose control, I could lose myself, I could lose everything."

"Or…you could master it and use it to rescue the princess, and save the kingdom. Is that not also a possibility?"

Chip thought about this for a moment. He'd never actually seen it that way before. Perhaps his powers were meant to help. After all, the prophecies…he'd stopped them happening so far. Maybe…maybe his powers were the key to finding Raisse!

"I could help you," offered Fauve. "I've read so many books on it; I'm bound to know something useful."

"Yes," murmured Chip. "Yes! Let's do that!"

Suddenly, he leapt to his feet, new excitement shining in his eyes. He smiled at Fauve, who looked astonished at his sudden change of heart. It felt so good to finally have someone to talk to about it. At last, he had somebody to share the burden with. At last, he had a sense of direction and purpose. He no longer felt tired; he wanted to start straight away, He grabbed Fauve's hand before she could protest and led her out of the clearing to the riverbank where the moon was brightest and the noises of the forest could not reach them.

"Tell me," he begged her. "Tell me everything you know."

And it was there, at that moment, on that night with a girl he barely knew, that Chip finally embraced the magic within him.


	21. Roses

Chapter Twenty: Roses

She dreamed of roses. That was what kept her going; Red roses, cream roses, thorns and petal. Back home, the castle was abundant with them. They grew in the garden in carefully planned rows so the lawns were awash with crimson dots when viewed from up high. They were painstakingly sewn into the curtains and sheets, especially in the west wing where every fabric had roses in its design. They were cast in the walls with the cherubs and the angels.

They were her mother's favourite flowers and whenever she imagined one in her mind, she saw her face. Her beautiful kind eyes, her creamy skin with its familiar lines…and then she saw her father. He always looked so sad in her dreams, so worried.

Sometimes when her mind wandered, as it did often these days, having nothing better to do, she imagined them forgetting her. It was not hard. Their memory of her would fade as she remained lost, and soon there would be no Raisse, Rose of France. Just Raisse, the forgotten. Perhaps, one day, far into the future, someone would look in the gardens or in the mouldings in the ceilings and have a flicker of remembrance, the recollection of one moment in time when another rose lived in those walls. They'd catch a glimpse, just a glimpse of fair hair and brown eyes, and then it would be gone, and they'd move on to the library or the armoury, and she would be dismissed. Meanwhile, she'd rot in her hut, and her mind would wander until she forgot herself too.

It had been months now. There was no way of counting the days for sure, but every moon took another away and every morning sun brought one back. They all just merged into one another. There was less daylight now, and she had started to shiver beneath the blankets and the remains of her dress. She reasoned it was near winter. She felt sure she'd never see summer again.

One morning, she'd woken feeling strange, and spent the day even more detached than usual. It was getting on for sunset when she finally came to the conclusion that it had been her birthday at some point. She'd aged a year overnight without realising. Seventeen years old now. No longer a child. In truth, she had not been one for a long time, but it was only now that she knew it.

Law and tradition dictated that she should be married by now. Her parents had mentioned it, had spoken of seeking a betrothal, but nothing had happened. Her mother had sat her down some time ago and talked about the importance of love, and how a person should realise it for themself, not have it forced upon them. When a beauty had first met a beast, she had certainly not been looking for love. It blossomed as a rose was dying nearby. As the last petal fell, the love was realised, the beast became a prince and all ended happily.

"But Mama," she had said in her infant tongue. "You fell in love with a beast. How then can you also love a prince?"

Her mother had smiled, and thought for a moment.

"I fell in live with a man who was both prince and beast, with the soul beneath the skin, and that is also important, Raisse. Love is not seen with the eyes; it is felt with the heart. The most handsome man in the world could be the ugliest on the inside…believe me, I know!"

Raisse knew of Gaston. When her mother considered her old enough to understand, she had told her everything. There were no secrets between them, and yet she couldn't help but think of him occasionally, and wonder what if? She would have been a peasant girl, not a princess, with dark hair, not blonde…

She'd asked Chip about it once. He'd laughed and said that if that had been the case, she would not be Raisse, and the world would have been a safer place for all. She'd scowled, and then charged at him, and they had wrestled in the rose garden.

That was a long time ago though. Chip had seemed scared to touch her lately, to go anywhere near her in fact. He was probably enjoying life without her at the moment. And as for the others; routine would not sop, that was for sure. It would have to be the end of the world before Cogsworth had the tight schedule disrupted. The castle would erupt in flames, and he'd still be ordering the daily cutlery polish to go ahead.

She missed him; she missed them all. Here there was no-one. She'd given up on conversation with Lefou and her captor had not shown his face since he'd caught them talking that time, and for that fact she was extremely grateful. Grateful, but lonely. Lonely, and possibly forgotten.

That is until one night when she awoke to find it standing before her. She was not afraid this time, but she blamed that on the grogginess of recent sleep. It took several seconds for her eyes to focus and see the creature. It seemed more solid this time however. The darkness that was its very essence was no longer transparent. Its face—if you could call it that—seemed more human somehow. At first glance, it could have been mistaken for an old man—a very ugly old man—shrouded in a moth-eaten cloak, perhaps destitute or drunkard. A thing to be pitied not feared. It was its voice that gave it away.

"I trust you are well and accepting, if not enjoying, my hospitality," it hissed like the dying embers of a fire. "I admit I do not entertain guests much, so I do hope you have found my services adequate for your needs."

It moved nearer to where she sat, and she found herself flinching despite her determination not to react to its mockery.

"I have been pleased with your conduct," it continued. "You are certainly an obedient young lady. No ill-conceived escape attempts, no whining, no bribery…one might even suggest that you are the perfect captive, the type of prisoner that others like myself wish we could experience every time. Do not think that impeccable behaviour such as yours goes unnoticed or unrewarded. In fact, the reason I am here is to offer you two prizes which I am sure you seek; comfort and knowledge."

It was true. She did seek both, though she doubted whether this…thing was capable of delivering its promises.

"You shall have a bed to rest in, a bath, clean clothes and be allowed outside every so often, as is only fitting for a prisoner of your status…"

"When will you release me?"

Raisse had found her voice, and it gave her great pleasure to interrupt the creature, although her throat hurt from the effort. It grinned in response, that terrible grin that could freeze a man where he stood.

"When you have ceased to be of use to me, then you will be released and sent back to your castle."

"If it is ransom you require, then I am sure it will arrive soon. My father would happily meet your demands if you release me."

The creature smirked…at least, Raisse thought it did. Whatever the expression on its face, it was certainly not pleasant to behold. Surely even happiness would be distorted to horrific effect on such an evil countenance.

"I am not as greedy as your own kind. Your money has no value to me. I do not buy, I take. I assure you that my taking of you as a guest was not for monetary gain. I would never stoop to such vanity."

Raisse considered this. Truly, she had never thought of a life without want for money, but this monster could not be living anyway. Its very presence reeked of decay. However, it had just given her fresh reason to fear it. If her value to it was not riches or gold, then her value must be herself, and that thought was more chilling than any other. Thus, her voice when she spoke next was weak and timid, as if she dared not hear the question herself.

"Then what use am I to you?"

"You are very useful indeed, young princess. Your presence here lures somebody to me. He is searching for you as we speak. He has in fact been searching for you for weeks. He is the one I want. You are the bait, nothing but a worm on a hook to tempt him out of the water."

"No…," she whispered. She knew he'd do anything for her, even walk into a trap, but surely he would not. He'd send guards; an army…he was no fool. He was the King of France…

"No, you stupid girl!" it snapped. Reading minds was one of its powers, but the expression on the girls face required no such means. He could practically see the word 'father' written in her eyes. "I have no use for your father, although, I have heard interesting tales about him. A beast, wasn't he? Such a basic enchantment. Feeble, really…No, it is not he. He would not be a worthwhile conquest. The man seeking you is a friend of yours. Charles is his name, I believe, though he refers to himself as 'Chip'. Such a vulgar nickname."

"Chip?"

Raisse was completely taken aback. _Chip was rescuing her? Chip, of all_ _people! No army, no guards, no dashing knights on horseback… but Chip?_

"Yes, princess, you may be confused, but I assure you he is perfectly capable, and at this moment he gets ever closer, ever nearer to his goal. Once he gets here, you may go free. Your life for his. It is as simple as that."

"Why him? Why Chip?" demanded Raisse, finding new strength in the sudden and fierce need to protect him. Her tone was obviously not to the creatures liking, as it bared its teeth like an animal and glared at her with those terrible eyes.

"Why does it matter to you? What do you care what happens to the boy? Do you not remember what he did to you?" it snarled, and moved closer, and suddenly Raisse was choking on nothing but air. "He violated you. He damaged you. What he did to you was what we call 'misused magic'. It is illegal in other words. Forbidden, outlawed, bad…and he performed it exceptionally. A masterful first attempt. I doubt you will ever really be the same again."

The creature's cruel words made Raisse relive the horror of the memory once again. It came to her as if bidden from some murky depth of her mind. The pain of drowning, the fear, and then peace, such short peace, before the pain again, and then fear worse than before…pure and close to unbearable. The atmosphere suddenly became stifling, and she felt herself gasping for breath.

"It wasn't him…he didn't mean to…," she managed to splutter between sobs.

"Oh, I'm sure he didn't mean to," the creature soothed. "But he did it nonetheless. He had the power within him to do things that are much much worse, you know. He's a very…special creature, and that is I why I want him."

Hearing Chip described as a 'creature' repulsed Raisse. She fought back, not willing to accept what she was being told. "Chip's a good person. He'll fight it. He'd never do anything bad on purpose. He wouldn't…I know him!"

With despair, she realised she was trying to convince herself more than the creature. In her head, she truly did not believe what she was saying, though her heart told her otherwise. The creature, noticing her desolate expression, nodded gleefully.

"I'm afraid it has already begun. Magic is highly addictive, you see. Once it gets under your skin, you crave it. Once it becomes a part of you, you can't live without it. The more he uses, the more powerful he will become. The more powerful he becomes, the more he'll use it. It is truly…," and it seemed to savour the word. "…intoxicating. Marvellous.

"Why are you telling me this? Why do I need to know?" demanded Raisse with the tiny shred of strength she had left. "And, why on earth do you want to give me clothes and food and comfort? It doesn't make any sense!"

"Why not?" smirked the creature. "Lefou shall take you to your new lodgings shortly. There will be a hot bath and clean clothes waiting for you. I suggest you do not sneer at my hospitality. I am rarely so generous."

And with that, the creature was gone. The air felt lighter in seconds and Raisse could breathe easily again, though her chest felt tight with anxiety and fear. She was, however, no longer scared for her own safety. The creature did not want to harm her. In fact, it needed her, and if it insisted in making her imprisonment slightly more bearable, then so be it. She would be alright. She was her father's daughter.

Her concern was now for Chip. If the creature spoke truthfully, and it had no reason to lie then he was in great danger. She had to get to him before he got to her. She had to warn him. She had to steer him away from temptation.

She would escape, and it would have to be soon. She would find a way, she had to. Raisse dried her eyes and waited for Lefou to come to her, and while she waited, she racked her brain for a solution.

……………………………………………………………………………………

The creature was pleased with itself. Everything was going well and its plans would soon be complete. This was the closest it could feel to happiness, for it was truly an evil being and was incapable of such emotions as joy or love. It did not know them; it only knew greed and ambition.

It was on earth; a place so different from its usual residence, and it had been presented with the opportunity of greatness. Thus pleased it, for despite its earlier claims, it was greedy, and grasping, and nowhere near as powerful as it pretended to be. It was, in fact, the lowest sort of demon with only one reason for its existence. This only made it want more.

The boy was perfect for achieving this, and he was so close. So close…just a little more encouragement was needed; and the creature left its lair, its prisoner and its minion behind that day to ensure this encouragement was taken care of. It slinked off into the shadows and never looked back. When it returned, its plan would be complete.


	22. Rise and Fall

And finally she updates! I am so sorry its taken so long, my life is beyond hectic at the moment. Whatever happens, I promise you all that I'm still interested in my story and I won't abandon it. And bare with me, I know not a lot is happeneing at the moment but its all building up to a glorious ending. The creature will stop lurking and actually do something evil soon. In the meantime, enjoy!!

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****Chapter Twenty One: Rise and Fall**

Autumn. Season of change, of transition, of the state between certainties. For many days, while the world was adjusting, the weather was unsettled. Days of sunshine followed hours of rain. Misty mornings became frequent, turning the spider webs strewn all around the forest into glittering jewelled patterns spun amidst the hedgerows and trees. The wind would gather strength in an instant, and then fade just as quickly, playing endless games with leaves and twigs, and all things light and fragile. The earth became bare, then muddy, then all but disappeared underneath a blanket of yellow leaves and broken branches. It got near impossible for any creature to pass soundlessly between the trees; every footstep being announced with a sharp 'snap' or 'crunch'—some loud enough to send every small animal around scurrying into safe hiding places.

Chip became dimly aware that the land was quieter. The sounds of bird song that filled the air grew fainter as the singers left to seek warmer climes. The forest became empty as its many inhabitants settled underground for a long sleep. Even the trees seemed silent, as their colours shifted lazily from green to yellow and gold. When the leaves fell, the plants looked bare and lifeless, leaving sharp twigs that protruded and scraped and scratched whatever passed by.

He wore his cloak more often now, though it gave little protection against biting winds that sent it streaming behind his shoulders without warning and exposing his thinly-clothed limbs to the mercy of the elements.

His hair grew long over his shirt collar; so long that he had to tear some cloth from his cloak to tie it back out of his eyes. For that, at least, he was grateful, as it gave the back of his neck some defence. He gave up shaving for the same reason, merely swiping his knife at his face to trim it occasionally—a habit that earned him several tiny cuts all across his chin and neck.

He ate little and often. Thanks to Fauve's knowledge of edible plants and his ability to throw stones hard and fast, they never went hungry, although they were never full either.

The practicalities of living soon became less of a priority. Chip was learning fast as the days grew shorter and the more he learned, the more he practiced.

He started small and in familiar territory. As the nights became unbearably cold, so the need for firelight grew, and Chip had no problem making flame on demand. At first, he had to produce it from kindling—dead leaves, fallen branches, anything that was dry and readily available—and then he moved on to creating it from nothing but air. He became steadily more efficient at starting fires quickly and with minimal effort, and when he could eventually make fire just by thinking about it, he got bored and turned his attention to other pastimes. His lifelong hobby of wood-carving was his next victim. He no longer needed a knife, or even his hands. His eyes became his only tools as he whittled pieces of wood by spinning them around in front of his nose; faster and faster, until chips of wood flew everywhere, scattering themselves around the clearing. Soon, there were masses of tiny oak figurines nestling in piles of mulch everywhere one could look.

Of course, it didn't always go according to Chip's plans. One time, he lost his concentration and hit himself in the cheek with a very solid lump of wood. This had Fauve in fits of giggles for the rest of the afternoon. He wore an unsightly purple bruise daubed with hand-made astringent for days after that. Another time, the wood he was shaping into a rabbit exploded in mid-air, covering him and their wild nettle soup with tiny flakes of wood-dust. Fauve had insisted that the soup not be wasted, so they'd eaten it anyway, grimacing as the meal eroded their taste buds and coated their teeth with a strange paste. The taste of dry bark was still in Chip's mouth the following supper time.

Every mistake made him more determined. Every temporary concentration lapse made him increase his focus, and behind every spell, every action of magical origin was Fauve, suggesting numerous ideas and theories that she deemed relevant. It was her that came to the conclusion that Chip's powers were elemental. He seemed to have some sort of bond with everything natural—from the clouds in the sky to the dust on the ground. The more basic, the easier to control. While he could lift leaves into the air effortlessly and make them dance in front of Fauve's eyes, it took him several attempts to move her blanket—with its many manmade threads and dyes—from one end of the clearing to the other. He could pick berries by looking at them, but an attempt to pluck a spider from its web resulted in the poor creature being shot straight up into the sky like a bullet from a gun. It never did come down again.

As Chip's confidence grew, his sense of direction improved greatly. In the daylight hours, they rode steadily on the route that he guided them along using his instincts. Villages, towns, even cities passed them by like sudden flashes of life in a dying world. They seldom visited them and mingled only with people that were of use, such as farmers who knew the land and the seasons, or merchants who, after some persuasion, traded them bread or wine for bundles of freshly-picked herbs and hand-made ointments.

Then, before the sun finished setting on the horizon, they set off again, usually managing to traverse a few miles before it became to dark to go on safely.

Chip's new trick, after he'd mastered the basics of combustion, was to conjure a small ball of light that sprung from his palm like a firefly and hovered above them as they rode. It lasted as long as Chip's energy did and faded as he tired.

Their nights were mainly spent talking and staring at the inky-black sky as it twinkled above them. They spoke of many things, not just magic or herbalism—their lives, for instance, before they'd met, the people they knew, the places they'd been, the worst thing that had ever happened to them—and the best. Raisse featured prominently in most of Chip's contributions. He had, after all, spent most of his life either running away from her or running around after her. Fauve listened intently as he listed her likes and her dislikes, and then all the things he either liked or disliked about her, He smiled at many of the memories, frowned at more than a few. With others, a strange ambivalence crept over him, as though he could not be sure how he felt about that particular event or the time when such and such happened. Often, he would pause and everything around them seemed to stop, as though he had the whole world as his audience. Chip journeyed back and back in his mind. Christmases floated past like dreams, festivals came and went—his whole life was played out before him like a chapter in a book, and the more he thought about it, the more he knew that the chapter was ending.

It was this sense of closure that enabled him to sit, propped up against a gnarled tree trunk one crisp winter's evening, and tell Fauve about the past that he was not a part of. About his mother, what he knew of her, and how he felt lost not knowing who he really was. About the locket—and at this point, he produced it from its hiding place in his bag—and how it was his only link to his identity. After this was all over, he said, he planned to journey to England and not leave until he'd explored every possibility, followed every trail and spoken to everyone called Dudley or who knew a Dudley until he had answers.

Fauve was the perfect listener. Her eyes never left his own, she smiled when he did and was the very image of sympathy when it was required. He found it so easy to tell her everything and then more he talked, the better he felt. He only stopped when he saw her stifle a yawn behind a pale and delicate hand.

"I'm sorry," he said, with a weary smile. "You should have shut me up hours ago."

"Don't fret so. I am yawning from tiredness, not boredom." She paused and glanced around the clearing. "It gets dark so quickly now."

Chip nodded in agreement. He could hardly remember summer's evenings when it was still light after dinner. It seemed so long ago.

"I had a brother."

Her revelation was not so dramatic, but it caused Chip to shift his gaze from the fire smoke to her eyes. She had not spoken much of her family, except for her mother and occasionally her father, though information about him was volunteered with reluctance and only when a particular action of his was directly relevant to a spell or her mother's cooking.

She did not continue at first, apparently happy to let the statement sink into the air between them. It was only when Chip asked that she spoke, and then it was not so much a question as a request for her to go on.

"You did?"

"I have not seen him for many years, and I don't remember him much. I was barely a toddler when we moved away. He was older than me…that is why he must have stayed when we left." She paused. "Anyhow, I know what it is like, I know the empty feeling; the feeling that you're incomplete."

She looked so sad as she said this that Chip felt an overwhelming desire to stride across the ground and hold her. Then, without warning, he thought of Raisse and felt guilt well up inside him, He never held her; never let her know that he cared. He had always been too afraid too, like if he touched her she would shatter into a thousand pieces. She always seemed so fragile, so untouchable, though she pretended she wasn't.

And now here he was with somebody else who needed him, who wanted to share, and he could not comfort her.

Or could he? They had a bond now, a link, and he'd opened up to her like no-one before. Maybe he did not have to make the same mistake again. Perhaps magic was not the only way he could better himself…

He stood up slowly, because his legs were stiff from sitting in the same position for so long. He walked the few steps over to where Fauve was now sitting with her head on her knees, her knees pulled tight to her chest. He dropped down beside her and awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders. They were narrower than he expected, leaving most of his forearm dangling somewhere near her chest. She leant into him without a sound and his hand found hers.

"I know," he whispered, so low that his voice was almost carried away by the breeze. "Maybe one day I'll find my family and you'll find your brother, and we'll both have a happy ending. We'll even invite each other over for Christmas dinner."

He felt her laugh gently into his chest and then turn her head to stare at the fire again.

"You have to find your princess first," she breathed into the firelight.

"We're close now," he said, and he knew it was true. They were near her, yet still distant, like they were each on one side of a wall searching for a gate. The mirror had ceased to be useful, offering nothing but darkness when he looked into it, but there was a feeling in his gut that could not be denied.

Just a little bit more…just a little bit further…

The woman at his side stirred and he felt her hair tickle his throat. She rested her head on his shoulder and his skin grew warmer as she breathed gently against it. They were both asleep before they realised, propped up beside one another like books on a shelf.

In the shadows cast by the fire, the creature watched the sleeping figures silently, its eyes dancing with the flames.


	23. The Turning of the Tide

Yes, I know its been far too long between updates. Had a little problem getting motivated, and then there was Christmas etc etc Anyway, here it is, and its all action action action from here on in so hold onto your seats! My thanks to Trudi for her beta skills and for naming this chapter when I was too tired to do so myself! Thanks also to all my reviewers and readers for being so patient. I hope you haven't all run away!

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****Chapter Twenty-Two: **

In a place not so far away from where Chip and Fauve were sleeping, Lefou was showing Raisse her new home.

It was an outbuilding of a manor house that rose up put of the misty night like a phantom as they approached it, or so it seemed to Raisse. There was something otherworldly about it, as though if she closed her eyes or turned her head for a moment, it would vanish into the darkness and then reappear at a glance. It seemed to shimmer in the moonlight as though flinching at its caress.

The smell of magic was over-whelming, even to someone as inexperienced with magic as Raisse was. The smell tainted the air, making it denser somehow. Walking through it was like was like wading through muddy water, and it settled in her throat and nostrils as they moved along towards the house, making her feel polluted and dizzy.

Lefou led her to the outbuilding, which was more than twice the size of the shed she'd been living in for the past several months. It was close to derelict, with jagged brickwork and overgrown weeds peering out from every crevice. A well with a rusty bucket swinging from it stood by the left wall, and piles of old wooden crates were stacked up haphazardly on the right. As they entered the building, Raisse had to stoop to avoid catching her matted hair on the woodworm-riddled doorframe. Lefou passed through behind her with no such problems, his head barely clearing the height of the doorknob upon entry.

Raisse stopped sharply once she'd raised her head again to inspect her new dwelling. Inside, the building was…well…homely. A hearth was directly opposite her, upon which a glowing fire had been set to welcome her. In front of this was a bath tub full of water from which steam curled gently to join the pleasant-smelling smoke from the fire.

On the edge of the bath, several towels and flannels were balanced precariously. They looked as fluffy and comforting as the ones at home.

_Home…_

Underneath the window, which was clean and intact, was a table and two chairs turned invitingly towards the entrance. The chairs were simple but elegant, with deep red cushions on the seats. On the table, atop a white lace cloth, was set a modest but mouth-watering meal of game pie with vegetables, and a flagon of wine.

A dress was folded neatly on one of the chairs, though from that distance she could not see the detail or the material. There was even a rug spread across the floorboards.

It was not palatial—far from it--, and Raisse had never felt so grateful.

After Lefou had mumbled his goodbyes and left (after locking the door securely, of course. As comfortable as the room was, it was still a prison cell), Raisse checked the room over thoroughly, searching for any gaps or weaknesses in the walls that she could use to escape. Finding none in her initial checks, her thoughts were turned to the bathtub so nicely arranged by the fire. It was beyond tempting…

She peeled her dress away from her body and jumped into the bath, caring not that she sent water spilling over the sides in all directions as she did so. The water miraculously stayed hot as she soaked in it—and soak she did!

She had not realised just how filthy she was. Weeks of sitting in a dusty hovel with not so much as a spare drop of water to splash on her face had taken their toll. Now, she embraced the water, wrapping herself up in every wave and ripple like a blanket. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed some more, until her skin began to take on a fierce pink tint.

Then, she took a deep breath and submerged her head and face, feeling her hair spread and move in the water around her. She stayed like this for several seconds before surfacing once, resting her head on the rim of the bath and closing her eyes. If she thought really hard, she could almost imagine she was in her own bathroom at home. The water was delicately scented with lavender, candles were gently glowing all around her and any minute now, Essie would enter with clean blankets to dry her and see her into her wonderful and familiar bed. She'd sleep tight, knowing that her parents would be just down the hall, her grandfather would be in his quarters in the East Wing, Chip would be in his room in the servants quarters, next door but one to Lumiere…

Wait…Chip.

The manor.

The creature,

With a gasp, she leapt out of the bath, slid on the wet floor and landed heavily in a heap by the door. It was a spell, a trick. No castle, no Essie, no lavender-scented water, just the overwhelming stink of enchantment. The creature was trying to lull her into compliancy, into a false sense of security so that she would not cause any trouble.

In despair, she curled herself into a ball and just lay there, afraid to move, afraid to think, cold and afraid for several hours.

_Chip, where are you?_

………………………………………………………………………………………

Chip was not as far away as one might think. As physical distances go, he and Fauve were but two days ride away from where Raisse lay shivering on the floor. If they rode the horses hard and didn't stop, they could even reach the manor before the sun rose and set once more…

But Chip wasn't ready to find Raisse yet. The creature knew this too, but it was patient. Centuries of nothingness had given it no real concept of time so it watched the two adventurers intently. Sometimes, it helped move things along. It could not do much, of course, but it could play with light and darkness, weaving them together and casting shadows anew. It darkened corners and lit faces where it chose, all the time watching, all the time waiting…

With the princess secure and under Lefou's guard, it could devote itself entirely to what it did best…illusion, distortion and corruption…

And so it was, that one evening, after a relatively uneventful day, Chip and Fauve found themselves in a hidden glade where moonlight shone on a river and made the trees glow with a silver-white lustre. There was ample kindling for a fire, piles of leaves and soft moss, and plenty of grass for the horses. This was a particular blessing, as the two horses had nor dined well for days. The fields they'd galloped through by recently had succumbed to the dryness of the season and mostly been barren wastelands. The roads had been dusty and untended. As soon as they felt weight leave their backs, they were off, attacking the grass as it might disappear any moment, leaving a stunned Chip and a smiling Fauve alone before their boots had barely touched the ground.

"Hungry?"

Fauve had her bag open on the floor in a flash, and began placing the results of an earlier successful trade on the ground around her.

They'd met an elderly woman in a marketplace who'd seemed on the verge of collapse. After many tears and a large amount of incomprehensible wailing, she'd confided in Fauve that her husband was near death. He'd seen countless doctors, only to be told time and time again that he was incurable. In truth, the man was nearing his seventieth winter and barely able to stand. The doctors all knew that any treatment would be pointless. The old man's time on earth was naturally drawing to a close and there was nothing they could do. The lady refused to give up, however, and had been scouring the marketplace for days searching for any conceivable remedies. She was convinced her husband could be saved. By the time Chip had returned from an aimless wander, the old lady was gone, Fauve's herb-bag was empty and her purse full of coins. Chip was amazed.

"Your herbs can heal him?" he said, as she shook some of the money into his hand.

She shrugged. "Maybe."

Then, she had run towards an alehouse, stopping only to cast an impatient look back at Chip.

"Come on!" Tonight, my friend, we dine well!"

And they had. The alehouse was small but the best menu in the kingdom, or so a patron drunkenly boasted outside. There was stuffed grouse, fine sweetmeats and exotic fruits piled high in china plates. Once the tavern owner saw the fat, crinkled purse in fauve's hand, he couldn't fill them fast enough.

They had left some hours later, both feeling full to the point of bursting, and clutching yet more bread, cheese and two flagons of wine for their evening meal.

It was these that were now resting on the ground beside Fauve's bag, empty once more. Chip removed his bag too, and let it drop softly into the grass next to him.

He watched Fauve intently as she struggled to open a well-corked wine bottle, and then shifted his gaze to a tree just beyond where she sat. It was a sweet chestnut tree, and had nothing about it to distinguish it from all the others around the clearing, other than that it was in Chip's direct line of sight as he stood. It was almost bare. Its branches reached jaggedly into the sky, casting a ghostly silhouette on the girl crouched beneath them.

Chip focused, and Fauve retreated so far back into his sight that she almost ceased to be visible. He was dimly aware she was speaking, but he could no longer hear the words, nor did he particularly want to. The tree was all that mattered…but it hardly moved. Its shadow did nothing but flicker slightly. A gentle breeze would have had more effect.

He tried again, and again, but he could do nothing save stripping a few slithers of bark from its trunk. Chip growled in frustration. The trees still eluded him. Was it their size? Their weight? Their firmly embedded roots?

No, it was him. He was simply not powerful enough, and this has been happening for days. It was as if he'd reached a barricade in his mind. A dead end, a block, and he could go no further, no matter how many different routes he tried. He was obstructed from reaching his potential, but how? Why?

"Chip?"

He blinked and turned his head. The tree was lost. Fauve stood in front of him with a bottle in her hand and a concerned look on her face.

"Wine?"

He shook his head, and rubbed his eyes with the dirty palm of one hand.

"You'll give yourself a headache if you keep trying to force it, you know."

She took a long swig from the bottle, and then raised her eyes to the heavens as if searching for something. After a while, she said, "Cloves, I think, and possibly cinnamon. Either way, it's well-brewed. You sure you don't want some?"

"No, thank you," he said quietly.

"Your problem is that you never just let yourself relax. Important things will never come to you if you attack them constantly, especially mastering magic. It takes time, and patience, to get anywhere and you have plenty of it. Well, time you have plenty of, anyway. You might as well calm down for a bit. Just sit down, have some wine…"

"I don't want any wine!" snapped Chip. "I want magic. I want power. I want…progress, damn it!"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes again, trying to think of a way to make Fauve understand.

"Don't…Haven't you ever wanted something so badly that you can never get a moments peace while it eludes you? That it's always there, no matter where you go, but wherever you go, it's just out of reach?"

Fauve swallowed her mouthful slowly and deliberately, but said nothing. Absently, she brought the almost-empty bottle down to her side and let it fall from her fingers. She blinked once. Twice.

Then she stood up, ran a few steps and jumped into the river before Chip had time to react. He scrambled to his feet, violently kicking the wine bottle into a clump of bushes in his haste.

"Fauve? Fauve!" he yelled.

_It was happening all over again. The water…the fear…death…Raisse Fauve…Raisse…Fauve…_

He was so busy panicking that he did not realise she had resurfaced straight away. No drowning…no dying…no pain…He realised his heart was racing. He had forgotten it could do that.

"What are you doing?" he half-laughed, half-spluttered in disbelief. She shrugged, making the water move away from her in rapidly-decreasing ripples.

"I wanted to bathe."

"Bathe?" he gulped, between breaths. "People don't…they don't just…Aren't you freezing?"

She grinned, or was it a thinly-concealed grimace? "Cold is good for the circulation…gets the blood flowing from head to toe…once you get past the initial shock", she gasped, "it's actually quite refreshing."

"You're crazy!" Chip exclaimed. "Completely mad."

"No, I am not. I'm just dirty from sitting in a smelly saddle on a smelly horse all day. Time to wash, I think."

Her dress was off and on the riverbank before Chip had time to avert his eyes. Astonished, he gaped at the woman undressing before him, with just a thin sheen of water to protect her modestly. Her stockings were next, though they took time, sodden as they were, followed by her shift and her shoes.

Naked as the day she was born, Fauve began splashing her top half all over with the ice-cold water. Chip continued to gawp, not knowing what to say or do. She was impossible to predict, that much was true. Such actions could easily cause scandal for the doer, or the worst of feelings in any lesser man. Chip was a gentleman, yet he continued to stare, out of surprise more than anything else.

"Do you mind?" she said eventually. "Can't you look elsewhere?"

Chip was mortified. "Oh, god…sorry!" he stammered and turned his face to the tree. The tree…the tree…always the tree…but his previous concentration was gone, and he was more than a little surprised to find he no longer cared.

"Chip?"

He started to face the direction the voice came in, politeness dictating that one should always address the speaker directly, and then he remembered at the last second, and snapped his neck back so quickly, he almost pulled a muscle.

"Dry my clothes for me?"

It was an innocent enough request, and Chip was glad of the distraction. The clothes were spinning in front of his eyes in moments, whirling in the night and sending sharp droplets of water flying in all directions. Several splashed on his face, cooling the red heat that had spread over the surface of his cheeks. Fauve was right. It was refreshing.

It took no time at all before the garments were dry and once again laying on the riverbank. Chip looked up to see Fauve smiling, her chin resting on her elbow at the edge of the water.

"See? You did that without thinking, though not so long ago you struggled with cloth and threads. You're progressing all the time, Chip. You just don't see it because you're concentrating so hard!"

"Alright, point taken." Chip could not help smiling back. "You're right."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, would you mind handing me my cloak? I can no longer feel my toes."

Shaking his head in amusement, he retrieved Fauve's cloak from where it lay crumpled over the remains of the bread.

"You're the strangest person I ever met."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

She held out a dripping arm. Chip started to pass the cloak to her, then changed his mind and snatched it back.

"Wait, I want to try something."

He held the cloak out in front of him, focused and dropped his hand. The cloak hovered in mid-air for a few seconds, and then slowly floated over towards the river.

"Chip, I am not coming out of the water with you watching me like a lecher!" exclaimed Fauve in a voice that was neither laughing nor serious.

"And I don't expect you to," replied Chip in a strange hollow voice which seems to turn his words into a chant. "I want to see if I can control it without looking at it." Slowly, carefully, he turned round so he could no longer see the cloak, the river or Fauve. The cloak did not fall, and Chip knew it didn't. He could feel it, and he could feel every thread, every stitch as if he was running his hands through the material. He could feel the needle darting in and out of the fabric, hear the seamstress humming as she sewed the material together, see the cotton plants waving in the windy fields…

"Go ahead, Fauve."

She did, and he felt that too. He felt her hands touch the fastening, felt the water on her body soak into the cloth, felt it cling to her back and shoulders like a second skin…

Somehow, he had become the cloak. This was not what he'd intended, nor did he know how he was doing it, and he was certainly surprised at the effect. It was strangely exhilarating…and then he realised why.

He swallowed hard and released the cloak, though it took more effort than he thought it would. He breathed deeply, desperately willing away the urge to become one with it again. It was wrong, but it had felt so good.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder and his heart leapt into his throat without warning. He felt dizzy, breathless, alive…He spun around to see Fauve and felt the warm scarlet return to his cheeks. Did she know what he was thinking?

"Chip?"

"I'm fine," he managed to say. "It was strange, interesting…"

"It was impressive," she finished for him. "Quite useful too, I'd imagine, to be able to move things without having to look at them. Are you cold? You're shivering."

Gently, she reached up to touch his face. He flinched away from her touch as her cold fingers brushed his cheek. "You're warm," she murmured. She moved her hand up to his forehead. This time, the cold was bearable. He felt the heat from his skin melt into her fingertips.

"Perhaps you have a fever," said Fauve, her voice barely above a whisper. "Or…perhaps…"

She trailed off as her eyes met his. He found he could not look away, not this time. He wanted her. He'd never wanted anyone this strongly before, he was sure of it. It was taking every inch of self-control he had left not to tear the cloak from her shoulders then and there…but he was no animal. He could not, would not, unless…

All his thoughts were forgotten as her lips touched his. Hungrily, desperately, he kissed her back, feeling her tongue dart between his teeth. Suddenly, there was nothing else in the world that mattered. Nothing, as he held her and pulled her close, nothing as her fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons, nothing as they sunk to the floor under the stars with no-one to see them but the night itself.

And the night was watching…closely…


	24. Voices part one

Hi everyone! Finally I update, and I'm updating with such a long chapter that I've divided it into two parts to make reading easier! I'll post the second half in a few days but in the meantime I really hope you enjoy this first one. Mega thanks to TrudiRose as usual for her beta'ing and grammatical expertise. Also, a rather surreal thanks to last week's episode of Lost that freaked me out so much that I could not sleep and wrote half of this chapter at 2am! Something about the wee small hours of the morning really helps your thinking!

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****Chapter Twenty-Three.**

**Voices (Part One)**

_It was summer; the hottest summer Chip had ever known. As he walked through the fields, now ripe and colourful, he could feel sweat glistening on his brow. He was thirsty. He didn't know how long it had been since his last drink and, foolishly, he did not seem to have brought any with him. His limbs ached as he trudged through the grasses that had not been tended for weeks. He trampled the plants beneath his boots because there was no way round them. For unknown reasons, he looked up and the sun immediately blinded him. Blinking hard, he fought to clear the brightness that obscured his vision temporarily. It faded slowly to nothing and he opened his eyes. _

_Suddenly, the world seemed different. Everything was as it was before, yet nothing was the same, and still he walked on, feeling that surely soon he would reach his destination. He rounded a tree and there they were--two figures silhouetted in the sunlight ahead of him. Both were people he knew well. One had flaxen hair like spun gold, the other's sparkled red like the finest rubies that man could behold. As he walked towards them, one did not change. The other grew darker, then darker still, until she seemed engulfed in shadows; more shadows than the sun could make. The vision began to blur, while his mind became clearer..._

He awoke with the dream still vivid in his head and a surge of power tickling beneath his skin.

Suddenly, he knew the truth.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Fauve was cruelly awakened by water splashing onto her face. Muttering various curses, she groggily picked herself and the blanket off the ground and stumbled towards the nearest tree, getting more and more soaked as she went. This was not the first time it had rained since the start of her journey with Chip. However, all the other times they'd been awake and had managed to run for cover before it started. There was something infinitely unpleasant about being so unprepared.

Shivering, Fauve wrapped the driest part of the blanket around her shoulders and looked through the steady lines of water all around her, trying to see her dress. She eventually spied it under another tree nearby and, mercifully, it seemed to have stayed dry under the dense evergreen canopy above it.

Maybe it was the strands of interrupted sleep that still clouded her mind, maybe it was the icy shock of the raindrops that had pulled her into consciousness so suddenly, maybe it was the sudden need to feel dry cloth against her skin…whatever the reason, it took a while for Fauve to realise that her bedfellow was missing.

When she did, having sensed no other movement in the clearing besides the earth rapidly becoming mud underneath her feet, she was only a little surprised. It was, after all, not the first time a bed had been left cold beside her, its occupant stolen away into the night while she slept. She was disappointed, however. She had thought that this time she was needed for a little longer than a night. This one was different from any man she had ever known. He was ambitious, passionate, determined yet with an underlying vulnerability that made her want to know more…yes, he needed her. If he was to have any chance of winning this battle, he still needed her.

This simple realisation brought her to her senses. Of course, he was still here. Look! There was his horse, cowering pitifully in the rain. There was his bag, becoming more and more sodden by the second. He must have gone to seek shelter, and now she could see that the tree under whose branches she stood was no longer sufficient. As if to confirm this, a single drop of water found its way through her shelter, hitting her smartly on the bridge of her nose. If she stood here any longer, no doubt she would soon be as wet as if she was standing where she had lain. Dismissing the insecurities of a few moments ago as the after effects of sleep, Fauve braved the curtain of water to seek out Chip.

She did not have to search long. In fact she had barely begun when she saw him just ahead of her as she rounded a thicket. With an exaggerated sigh of relief (for she was now very wet indeed), she half-ran, half-slid through the mud to where he stood motionless, with his face turned away from her, seemingly just staring into the dusky haze of the morning's sky.

"Chip?" she asked, trying to be heard above the sudden boom of a thunderclap that stole her voice from her throat before she could make a sound. Glancing skywards, Fauve saw a large black storm cloud swirling above their heads. Another clap of thunder; this time so loud that she felt her ears ring.

She usually liked storms. As a child, they had fascinated her. She and her mother would sit at the window of their cottage, gaping at the awesome power of Mother Nature, She would scream at the noise and then giggle, relishing the exhilaration that came with the fear. They would cuddle together until the storm was over and Fauve would sleep soundly, dreams of thunderclouds dancing around her head.

But something about _this_ storm scared her. It was only as she moved closer to Chip that she realised what that something was. He was dry, and so was the ground immediately around him. He turned and she saw the storm in his eyes.

"Chip?"

Controlling the weather was notoriously difficult and unpredictable. Few enchanters could manage it, and even fewer mastered it. Many just left it well alone. It was advanced and dangerous. One could cause floods or droughts, or even shake the earth till it cracked underfoot.

Nevertheless, Chip had summoned a storm.

………………………………………………………………………………………

Not so far away, in the hut by the manor, all was calm, no sign of rain to be seen.

Raisse sat at the table staring at the sunrise as Lefou carefully placed a large steaming tureen in front of her. He then produced a spoon from his pocket, stirred the porridge once and then turned to leave his guest to her breakfast. He was thinking of the day ahead of him, of the work to do around the manor before the master returned, of his midday prayers, of his own breakfast…

"Lefou?"

He turned sharply, a little startled at the interruption of his thoughts. She was looking at him. Her eyes were swollen and puffy, her expression one of solemnity and weariness.

"Yes, princess?" he said cautiously. She rarely spoke to him. Her decision to now concerned him a little.

"Will you join me?"

"J…join you?" he spluttered.

"I would be grateful of the company…please?"

Her voice was timid and delicate. Lefou was suddenly reminded of how young she was. She was, after all, little more than a child and had surely seen things over the last few months that no child should have to see. He thought of his duties, and wondered if he could postpone them for a little while. After all, he had to admit that the loneliness was getting to him too. His master had been away for days with no announcement of an imminent return. The manor felt so large and empty without his presence echoing around the rooms and hallways. It might be nice to have somebody to talk to.

"For a little while," he murmured. He shuffled into the seat opposite her and glanced up quickly before staring at the tablecloth.

"Thank you."

She smiled gratefully and began to eat the porridge, blowing gently on each spoonful before she put it her mouth, Lefou was struck by her grace and delicate beauty. He realised that no amount of imprisonment or ill-treatment would ever take away her regality. Not for the first time, he felt guilt at keeping her locked up wash over him. He wondered what would happen to her once the master had what he wanted. Would she be freed, or left to live out the rest of her life as a prisoner? He hoped the former, though a feeling deep in his gut told him otherwise.

"Tell me about yourself, Lefou. Your home, your family, your life before…this."

He was astounded. No-one had ever asked him about himself before. Never. Not even in his younger days when people surrounded him constantly. It had always been Gaston they'd been interested in. He didn't even know where to start.

"I…um…live in Molyneaux in a little house next to the boulangerie. It has a thatched roof and garden with a little pond…

He paused. A sudden and great longing for his home wrenched his heart. He had left it so carelessly, so quickly…had he even remembered to bolt the door behind him?

"It sounds delightful," said the princess. "Do you live there with your family?"

"No, I live alone."

"Do you not have a wife? Children?"

"I never married. There was never anyone."

No-one but Gaston, and no-one since his death. It had seemed better that way. Hastily, he moved on to his family.

"Um…My father died when I was six years old. I haven't seen my mother for years. She re-married and had another child, and then she moved away."

"You did not want to go with her?"

"No. I…er…had commitments in Molyneaux."

"You had Gaston."

For a moment, Lefou wondered how she knew his name. Then it all came back…that night seventeen years ago…

_The men hurried down the steps, some crawling, and some limping. They pretended not to hear the shouting and cheering coming from behind them. They had been defeated. They had lost._

_Lefou stumbled to his feet, wincing at the sharp pain in his backside. He had been stabbed by…by a clock wearing an admiral's hat! Gingerly, he put his fingers to the wound. Oh, how it stung! His hand, when he looked at it, was smeared with blood._

_The sound of rapidly approaching hooves suddenly echoed in his head. A girl shouted in the darkness._

"_Beast…Gaston, no!"_

_He dimly recognised Belle before she and the horse thundered past him. _

_Belle? But what was she doing here? How did she escape? And now…and now she was galloping to that…that monster's aid? How could she! How dare she! He'd known she was trouble, had known it since that accursed day that Gaston had first laid eyes on her, and now here she was, meddling, interfering…_

_Where was Gaston anyway?_

_He smirked. 'You'll never get there in time', he thought. 'That beast will be dead long before you can reach him'._

_Suddenly, lightning flashed through the sky, illuminating two figures fighting on the roof of the castle. Lefou strained to see who they were. It had to be them. Was Gaston winning? He had to be winning! Why, he'd slain grizzly bears, this beast was nothing._

_The figures disappeared for a moment, then another jagged fork of lightning tore through the sky, and he saw Gaston dangling from the monster's paw._

"_I'll do anything…anything!" Gaston's frightened voice echoed around the canyon._

_Gaston was frightened? How could this be?_

"_Gaston!" yelled Lefou. He tried to move but fear had rooted him to the spot._

_Wait! Gaston had gone. Where had he gone? He couldn't have fallen…Ah, there he was! Somehow he'd broken free of the monster and was quietly creeping up the roof to where it stood. _

"_Ga…," he started to shout in joy, but no, he mustn't warn the creature. Lefou clamped a fat, sweaty hand over his mouth. Silently, he urged Gaston on. A little further, a little further, and yes, he'd got him! Had stabbed him, right in the back… _

_Lefou's expression of excited anticipation slowly melted into one of absolute horror as he saw Gaston tumble from the roof, down, down into the black abyss of the canyon._

It was still painful, still after all these years. Ashamedly, he felt hot tears prickle behind his eyelids.

"Oh, Lefou," the girl's soft voice whispered, bringing him back to the present. "I'm sorry. I cannot imagine what it must be like to lose somebody you love."

He grimaced. He wanted to hate her, He longed for the feelings of abhorrence and disgust to come. She was the child of Gaston's murderer!

He couldn't. She was blameless, not even born at the time of Gaston's death. She would know. She would know soon enough the pain she could not imagine. He could not help but pity her for that.

………………………………………………………………………………………

The rain stopped. The thunder stopped. Suddenly, the air was clear. Fauve looked around her in bewilderment.

"I made it stop," Chip explained. "Clever, isn't it?"

Clever was not the word Fauve would have picked, but she nodded, feeling tendrils of wet hair sticking to her forehead. Then she said in a low voice:

"I thought you couldn't do any more. You said yesterday…"

"Last night changed that."

"Oh." It was all Fauve could think of to say, but she needn't say any more. Chip continued.

"See, I've figured it out. Strong emotion, strong feelings…that's the key. Grief, when Raisse died, desperation, whatever last night was about, lust I guess, anger…it's what makes me stronger. I feel…I feel like I can do anything, it's…incredible."

Fauve was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, hence her lack of words. What was she supposed to say? Congratulations, you've gone too far? Not too mention that his throwaway comment about the previous evening had stung her just a little…

"So, I guess I have you to thank for this. But…wait…that's not all I got from last night. See, Fauve, I had another of my visions."

He paused, looking expectantly at her. She did not like the faraway look in his eyes. Had he gone mad? "Okay."

"Stop it, Fauve," he snapped. "Don't look at me like I'm crazy. Don't make me tell you what you already know."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped right back. Her confusion was turning into irritation. She rarely let people talk to her the way Chip was doing at that moment. Anyway, the best way to disguise the fear she felt with every word he said was to coat it with anger. The conversation was sending shivers down Fauve's spine, although she attributed at least part of it to the fact she was wet and freezing cold. Her head spun and her stomach lurched. She was terrified of the man in whose arms she had lain in just hours before. However, she was also defiant and headstrong. She had no true reason to fear him.

"I shall give you one chance to tell me the truth."

"What truth? I have been nothing but honest with you since the moment I met you!"

"You know my enemy…"

His words made her breath catch in her throat, and she realised how foolish she had been to think he would never find out. Still, she hadn't lied….

"I never said I did not."

"…yet you neglected to tell me."

"I did not think it mattered. You want to destroy it. I want to destroy it. Nothing else is relevant." She paused. "Besides, if you dreamed correctly, then you have no reason to challenge me. I have done nothing wrong."

Chip seemed to contemplate this for a moment. When he spoke again, his eyes bore into hers.

"Tell me everything then."

Fauve sighed. In truth, she was not sure why she hadn't told him the whole truth of her presence on his quest. After all, the truth was only five words, none of them difficult to say, yet every one evoked loss, pain and anxiety.

With a deep breath, she spoke.

"The creature has my brother."


	25. Voices part two

Hi everyone! After much stress and much wanting to bludgeon my computer to death with my own head, I present to you the 2nd half of my chapter! Thanks again to all my reviewers (its your kind words that keep me writing) and to Trudi for her continued help-much appreciated!

On to the story...

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Chapter Twenty-Three.**

**Voices (part two)**

"So, can you sense when it's around?" Raisse asked, trying to sound as if she did not know the implications of her words.

Lefou nodded. "It's like a chill creeping all over my skin, like someone has just walked over my grave…"

"Like when you think you're being watched but you can't see by whom?" offered Raisse.

Lefou thought for a moment. "I guess…but I see it too, in my mind's eye just before it…you know…appears."

They had been talking about the creature for just over an hour. Raisse had managed to manipulate the conversation from family to foes relatively easily, to her surprise. She knew she could be persuasive, always had been. A few more minutes more before bedtime, just one more cake, another game and then she would study, she promised…these were all phrases she used regularly at home. An eyelash flutter here, a smile there, had always gotten her what she wanted. Oh, how trivial it all seemed now, when all she wanted was what really mattered! Freedom. Her family. Her dearest friend.

If Lefou was suspicious of the revealing nature the conversation was taking, he did not show it. Was he really as naive as he seemed?

"Is it here now?"

"No. Elsewhere, has been for days. It's so boring in that house all by myself. Sometimes I…no, forget it…

"What is it? Really, you can tell me, Lefou. I won't breathe a word."

Lefou leant over the table, quickly looked around like a guilty child about to steal sweets, and the dropped his voice to a whisper so low that she struggled to hear it, even in the overwhelming silence that surrounded them.

"Sometimes I feel like I don't want to do this anymore. It was all for Gaston, everything, and the creature promised, it promised that it would help him, that I could undo all the wrongs against him."

"What happened?"

"Nothing!" blurted Lefou. "Nothing happened! Kidnapping you did nothing!"

Raisse was alarmed to see the little man burst into tears. Despite everything, she felt sorry for him. He was so easily led, was probably a good man deep down. Now a lifetime of grief had taken its inevitable toll. The poor man was a wreck.

"There, there," she soothed as she awkwardly patted his shoulder. "Everything is going to be fine, you'll see."

She cringed at how empty her sentiment sounded. In truth, she was becoming increasingly distressed by the sobs that bellowed forth from Lefou's chest. How could she comfort him? It was true; in some way, her family was responsible for his lifelong torment. How desperate must he have been to conjure evil spirits from godforsaken realms and think they could help him find some sort of peace in vengeance?

Everyone, even those resistant to magic and faerie-folk (and there were a few. They prided themselves on not relying on magic to solve every problem, on not succumbing to the powerful lure that it had on mere mortals) knew that spirits, both evil and good, only ever thought of what they wanted. Any assistance or advice given to humans was merely a device to aid their ambition and greed. Even the Enchantress who'd cast the spell on Raisse's family all those long years ago had an ulterior motive—or so everybody said, although nobody was clear on exactly what that motive was.

Raisse was, of course, unaware of the Enchantress' part in her current predicament. The events of years ago—the past, magical roses, beasts—it was all just another story to her. This one, however, was all too real, and required more than a few confessed words of love for there to be a happily ever after. Perseverance, suggestion…these were the only tools Raisse had to win her freedom, and she handled them carefully. Lefou's resolve was weakening. All his pent-up anger and grief was gradually being released in the tears he shed. Now it had to be replaced with ambition and pride.

"Tell me about Gaston, Lefou. What did you like best about him?"

In the old days, Lefou would have taken the opportunity to list all of Gaston's amazing physical traits. His strength, his power, his skill with a bow and arrow…all the attributes that had made the man a legend and earned him a private shrine in the inn and in the hearts of all the people of Molyneaux. These all hardly mattered to Lefou though. He had, after all, met Gaston as a boy, when he was years away from the man he would become.

"He made me feel wanted," he said quietly. "For so long, I belonged at his side. We did everything together—hunted, drank, played games.Then he was gone, and there was just me. I was alone."

"Didn't you try to find your mother? Your family?"

The room fell silent. Either Lefou did not hear her, or he chose not to. Either way, Raisse felt the control she had had over the conversation slip just a little. Lefou was lost in his past, and those lost in the past rarely wanted to regain the present or even think of a future. The past was safe. One already knew what had happened. Far scarier was a life beyond stolen moments and spent memories, when a person had to let go and face the unknown.

In Lefou's case, the unknown was clearly a life in which he thought for himself and dictated his own actions. For both of their sakes, he needed to learn how to do this.

"Haven't you ever wanted to be a hero, Lefou?"

The word brought Lefou out of his self-imposed trance.

"A hero?" he breathed. Truly, he had never thought of it. He'd always been a lackey, a sidekick, the person who cheered on others who were courageous and gallant. The idea of him being the centre of attention and the one people looked up to…no, he could never do it…could he?

"Me? A hero?" he said out loud. "I…well, I…how could I be a hero? Heroes are tall and strong. They kill monsters, they save people. I've never saved anyone…and the biggest thing I've killed is a housefly."

"You could save me, "she suggested rather boldly, "and kill your own demons for good."

"What?" stuttered Lefou. "I couldn't…I wouldn't even know…how…how would I do that?"

"Just think, Lefou. You'd be free. You could do whatever you wanted to, and they'd cheer. The people would cheer! They'd say 'Hail, Lefou! Saviour of the princess!' and you'd be a hero. A hero just like Gaston! Surely that's what he'd really want, for his loyal friend to honour his memory by saving the day!"

She jumped up, excitement shining in her eyes, and suddenly Lefou could hear the people singing his praises and shouting his name. He was being carried on a throne through the crowd and women were throwing flowers and children were staring up at him with wide-eyed awe. And there, right in the middle, was Gaston. He saw the hunter smile and then clap him on the back with his strong hand. "Well done, Lefou."

Raisse stepped back to admire her handiwork, daring to feel hope raise up inside her, and not just hope that she could escape. Hope that this little man, whom she had grown quite fond of, could break away and start afresh. Hope that…

"No," he said, suddenly.

Raisse blinked.

"What?"

"No, I can't do it. I won't do it. Goodbye, Raisse," he said calmly.

He dipped his head in a little bow, strode to the door, and slammed it behind him, all the while with a small smile on his lips.

Raisse was stunned. It had all been going so well. It had been working. How could it go wrong? In a daze, she slumped back down in her chair, waiting for the heart-wrenching despair to seize her chest and slowly start to defeat her from the inside out.

But this never happened, because then Raisse saw the small iron key that had been left on the table.

"Oh, Lefou!" she breathed. "You did it! You did it!"

Without further hesitation, she ran for the door, wiggled the key into the lock and flung it open. Air hit her in the face, such sweet outdoor air, and then she was running. She didn't care where. She just wanted to run far, far away to her life. To her home. To her freedom. She ran faster than she ever thought she could run, hardly seeing the trees as they flew past, her bare feet slapping on the grass, the hem of her dress streaming out behind her, and all the while she thought of her home, her family and her friends, and mentally thanked the strange little man who had saved her.

The man in question saw her run. He had barely moved out of the way of the doorway before she swung it open and then took off like a deer during a hunt. He watched her as she disappeared from his sight, and smiled to himself.

_Finally, I did something right…_

His thoughts were confirmed by the presence of a voice at his ear, a voice that had always been there, a voice that sounded like dead leaves and dry twigs underfoot…

"So she has escaped…"

"How did I do, master?" asked Lefou, his voice a little squeaky.

"Perfect, Lefou," whispered the creature as it hungrily stared at the forest the princess had run into. "Just perfect."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"My mother is dying. I do not know what of. She has been sick for sometime. She asked me to find my brother and to search in Molyneaux, so I did.

Chip studied Fauve as she told her story, absorbing every word she spoke. His anger had subsided a little, just a little, just enough so that he could concentrate on her excuse for deceiving him. It was hard for him to tell if she was still lying. She seemed sincere enough, but then she had not been honest since the day he met her, so the cynicism he had developed only recently made every word sound false. Still, he listened, though a part of him was too far gone to care.

"I was too late. I discovered he had already left. Nobody knew where and when he had gone, and when I asked further, they shut their doors on me muttering things about evil spirits.

"I went to his house, but, of course, it was empty, save for a pentagram made of chalk and a large number of books that I dared not read. I know black magic when I see it. My mother used to warn me of such things, but I never dreamed that my own brother would involve himself in such horrors."

She shook her head sadly, causing something on her cheeks to catch the light of the sun that now rose steadily on the horizon. Chip could not see if the somethings were tears or left-over raindrops. She continued;

"I had hit a dead-end, and I did not know what to do next, so I stayed in the cottage for a while. I guess I wanted to get a sense of who my brother had become. I was so young when we moved that I didn't remember him, and Mama had never spoken of him until that day.

"Eventually, out of desperation, I sat in the room where he'd conjured demons and cried out to anyone or anything that could hear me to help me. It was the creature who answered. I'll never forget he first time I saw it." She shuddered. "It robbed me of breath and made my blood run cold. When I had calmed enough to hear it, it said it had him who I sought and that he would be released if I cooperated."

Chip nodded grimly, feeling his anger return. So, he was right after all. Fauve must have noticed the subtle shift in his mood, for she suddenly cried out, "No! It is not what you think. Please let me finish. Judge me then if you must, but let me finish."

He did nothing, said nothing, so she took that to mean she should continue.

"It told me that a man of your age and description would arrive in the village, calling himself a wanderer with an uncertain destination. It said I must stop him from reaching it by any means necessary. _He is a threat to me, _it said. _You must ensure he never finds me. Only then will I return your brother to you. _I gave the creature my word, but inwardly vowed to do the opposite."

Her voice grew soft and she dared to come nearer to him, though she noticeably trembled with every step.

"I knew when I met you that you were special, that you had the power to defeat it. And you do, Chip! Don't you see? We can do this together, we can destroy it once and for all!" she said, new excitement causing her to babble somewhat. "We can work together. We can save the princess and my brother. See, I never lied! I…"

She was halted in her tracks by a sudden burst of laughter from Chip. The idea that he might not take her seriously had never occurred to her, and now it irritated her immensely.

"What? How dare you? I….I'm being serious! How can you…"

"You fool, Fauve!" hissed Chip sharply, now fully understanding the situation. "Don't you realise what you've done? This is what it wanted all along! It tricked you!"

Frustration at her stupidity awoke the beast that now dwelt in Chip's mind. He felt the power rise up with him, unstoppable now in its persistent menace, and somewhere deep inside, part of him – the part that was still Chip -- became terrified. What was happening to him? He felt that he was losing control as the rage overtook him. Fauve felt herself begin to back away, seemingly against her will and rather clumsily, as she nearly tripped over a tree-root in her haste.

"It knew you would help me. Did you really think you could outwit such a creature? It wants me. It needs me. How could you do this to me, Fauve?"

The hurt and anger in his eyes was too much for Fauve to bear. She began to cry, fear and guilt distorting her voice into a series of desperate gulps and stutters."

"No! No, I didn't…I didn't mean to, I didn't know. Chip, please…I'm sorry…I…"

"You used me to find your brother and so have condemned me to this…to what I have become. I don't want this, I don't want this!"

Now he was screaming like a frightened child. He saw himself pick Fauve up from the floor with unseen hands and then slam her body against a tree. She had hurt him, she had deceived him. Like everyone else, she had lied. All the pain he had not yet fully allowed himself to feel over his mother was now taking over, and he was pushing Fauve into the tree. Again, again, and she was yelping in pain, and he did it again, and now he was crying for everything he had lost and everything he was about to lose…

Suddenly, he came to his senses. With great effort, fighting the person he now was with everything he still had, he let her go. She fell to the floor in a heap, bruised, shaken but still alive. She proved this by somehow managing to scramble to her feet, whimpering all the while, and Chip saw, truly saw, for the first time what he had done. With one last look, her eyes watering in her red and muddy face, her hair wet and tangled, her dress a mess of holes and rags, Fauve ran out away through the trees and out of his life.


	26. Chapter 26

Dear all of my wonderful readers and reviewers,

I'm afraid I have to do what I never said I'd do, and that's put this story on hold. The reason? Well it's a combination of severe writer's block and realising that I can't continue until I've done some serious re-writing.

I didn't do enough characterisation at the beginning and committed the literary sin of deciding my plot before I thought properly about my characters; who they were and how I wanted them to develop. As a result, I've reached a point where I don't know my characters and therefore don't know how to get them to the end of my story.

Now, I'm not abandoning this! There are parts of it I really like and am so proud of, but I think they can be made much much better. So….I'm gonna take some time off and work on my characterisation skills. Gonna attempt a few wholly original things and then come back to this all refreshed.

In the meantime, I'm so sorry for stopping things so abruptly but it has to be done!

Thanks again for all the time spent reading my story. I really appreciated it

Steph


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